


.invisible string

by sanchan06



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 70,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanchan06/pseuds/sanchan06
Summary: After a wild night in Vegas, Charles and Sam find themselves in unusual circumstances, inexplicably strung together while facing life-changing decisions and unexpected surprises, setting them on a winding journey challenging the notions of love, fate and the ties that bind. [Inspired by kdrama 'Fated to Love You']
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young (Let's Play)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 104





	1. Waking Up in Vegas

_\---_

_You gotta help me out_

_It's all a blur last night_

_We need a taxi 'cause you're hung-over and I'm broke_

_\---_

The first thing she heard was the alarm.

Sam groaned, reaching blindly to silence the offending object until her fingers grasped the little hellion and turned it off after several taps and swipes.

Next was the rustle of sheets as a figure shifted beside her and threw an arm around her waist. Enjoying how it wrapped protectively around her, Sam turned and snuggled deeper under the duvet.

Then came the soft snoring of a person in deep slumber, an unfamiliar sound mixing with the smell of aftershave, smoke, and rainfall.

Sam’s eyes shot open, instantly regretting the motion as she squeezed them shut, the bright light still stinging underneath her eyelids combined with a dull headache. She reopened them more cautiously this time, taking in her surroundings. _What happened last night?_ She thought groggily as her eyes adjusted to the morning light streaming into the hotel suite. A whirl of color, incomprehensible noise, fireworks, a hand holding tightly onto hers, running, acrobats, and clowns? The images flashed in her mind, making little sense until her nearsighted vision focused on the slumbering face before her.

He still took her breath away every time she woke up beside him. It had been over two months since they began their ‘arrangement’ as _teacher_ and _student_ with daily lessons in the boardroom and nightly lessons in the bedroom. She and Charles agreed to let things happen organically, but after the night she practically launched herself into his bed, they decided certain rules needed to be established. _One_ , Sam watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, _Under no circumstances is anyone allowed to know about us (_ ** _‘Us?’ The simple remark took Charles by surprise, his cheeks flushed when Sam teased about defining relationships, a line he still remained unmovable from_** _). Two,_ she admired his long eyelashes, high cheekbones and deceptively soft lips she enjoyed very much, _No PDA (_ ** _‘So no hugs or hand holding?’ Charles backtracked and clarified, ‘Let’s not be too hasty, hugs less than 5 seconds are permissible, but no kissing or hand holding in public_** _)._ _Three,_ loose strands of golden hair fell across his sleeping face, _No spending the night._

Sam couldn’t help a small triumphant smile, that rule had quickly been thrown out within the first week of them…spending time together. She was quite proud of negotiating her way back into Charles’ bed on a late Friday night when she brought her Funtindo console to his apartment after work, teaching him how to play Bash Bros and staying up past 1 a.m. When he realized how late it was (Sam knew he had a competitive streak, but was surprised at his eagerness), Charles conceded to let her spend the night in the guest room since it wasn’t safe for her to be out in a taxi this late; a notion she quickly countered with a few well-executed moves, delighting and distracting him in the master bedroom.

They had spent many more nights together, but Sam treasured the mornings when she woke up first, a rare occasion given Charles’ internal alarm clock of exactly 6 a.m. She was drowsily content to see his face, unguarded and peaceful as he slept, a stark contrast to his 10-foot high walls and chains mounted in place to keep everyone at a distance. A distance, Sam wondered, reaching upward to brush the hair from his face as she recalled the final and most important rule, _Four, No getting attached,_ if she could ever overcome.

Her hand immediately froze, eyes caught on the brilliant [ sapphire ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1840/2771/products/il_fullxfull.1962628423_ihhs_2000x.jpg?v=1569440454) surrounded by a halo of diamonds on her ring finger, a kaleidoscope of color dancing in the sunlight.

\---

Charles abruptly woke to a loud shout, his mouth felt like sandpaper and he thought his head was going to split in two. _What happened last night and what the hell was I drinking?_ He made a mental note not to drink that heavily again, brief memories of Ben chanting, ‘ _What happens in Vegas!,’_ fireworks, tequila, slot machines, spilled drinks, a small hand clutched in his, and possibly clowns, flit about as he tried to get a bearing on his surroundings.

Opening his eyes, Charles saw Samara sitting upright, terror and shock etched in her expression. Guilty thought No.1 emerged, _Dear Lord, did I do something improper,_ which was immediately quelled when he realized they were both still fully clothed, Samara in her black dress and he in a rumpled oxford and pants. It wasn’t the first time they had spent the night _and_ morning together. Though the frequency of its occurrence (10 so far) continued to steadily rise, a fact Charles was reluctant to acknowledge the significance of. 

He continued to take stock of the situation. They were in a room suite in Las Vegas, noting the gaudy chandelier that hung above them, light filtering through floor to ceiling windows, the city skyline in clear view. Originally, they were there to meet with prospective clients, but Samuel had managed to snag VIP passes to StormCon, the World of Warquest annual convention hosted by parent company Snowstorm International, for Sam’s Guild from an old college buddy who was recently hired as a VP. They had flown into Las Vegas the day before yesterday, Sam’s friends would be arriving today for the second day of StormCon. 

Last night, they had run into Ben who was also invited to attend by his friend Dean, one of the Spanish announcers for the WoW tournament. Charles remembered going out to dinner with Ben, Dean and their friend Collin. _Was it_ _Kobe or Purgatory’s Place,_ a vision of flames dangerously close to his face emerged, but otherwise his recollections from the previous night remained muddied and elusive.

Charles gingerly sat upright, the dull ache in his head turning into a steady beat. It had been ages since he last felt this hungover (His first New Year’s in America came to mind). Thankfully he wasn’t rushing towards the bathroom, but he’d kill to have something to wash out the sandpapery feel on his tongue. Turning to face Samara, he gently clasped her elbow. “Bunty, what’s wrong-” And that’s when he saw the sparkler on her ring finger. Feeling the blood rushing from his head, his eyes drifted to his own left hand, seeing a platinum band mirroring hers. A maelstrom of emotions blasted through, confusion, terror and shock crossing his features as he looked up to Samara who looked as bewildered as he felt.

“Good Morning Lovebirds!” The double doors of the suite suddenly burst open, Ben stepping in with takeaway coffees and Dean tossing rose petals at the baffled pair.

“ _Oh fy nuw._ ” 

What exactly had they gotten themselves into?

\---

The Welsh curse slipped past Sam’s lips as Marshall approached, appreciating the amused smirk on Charles’ face and accepting one of the coffees. She took a sip of the vanilla latte while her internal processor kicked into overdrive trying to figure out how they got m-marr-

 **“** Ben,” Charles interrupted her thoughts as he grabbed one of the available coffees and took a grateful sip, “What are you doing here? What are you both doing here?” He raised an eyebrow at Dean who continued to toss rose petals around the spacious suite, who was either blessedly hangover-free or still somewhat tipsy.

Marshall looked back at Dean, “Oh he’s just like that. I guess he was pretty thrilled when you guys asked him to be the flower girl last night.”

Sam and Charles nearly spit out their coffee simultaneously. “Y-you were there? What happened?”

Marshall looked taken aback, “You...neither of you remember?” He appraised the situation, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It was rare for him to have an advantage over the typically cool and composed British fellow, who was beginning to unravel, a stress vein emerging from his forehead. “I was surprised when you asked us to be witnesses, I mean, none of us _knew-”_

“Dammit Lawson, details!” Charles’ patience was wearing thin, a razor sharp edge to his voice. 

“Marshall, please,” Sam asked, warm brown eyes wide and pleading.

He sighed at Sam’s puppy pout, “That look should be illegal,” he relented, pointing to the Hispanic man, “Dean took videos, you were all pretty hammered last night. Sam was practically down after two strawberry daiquiris,”

“I thought they were non-alcoholic.” She groaned, a pink tinge to her cheeks. 

“And you,” Marshall pointed to Charles, “I was shocked you managed to keep up at the bar, I mean, you got Dean to quit after six shots of tequila.” Charles made several Welsh noises as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m British, we’re made of sterner stuff.” Charles huffed, tentatively getting onto his feet. And was filled with immediate regret, feeling lightheaded as he sat back onto the bed. _Lousy tequila_ , he internally cursed. 

Sam crawled over to where Charles sat, grabbing her phone and unlocking it to see if it held evidence of last night’s activities. Ignoring the text notifications (she would get to them later, thankfully no missed calls, particularly from her father. Not yet anyway), she tapped on the _Photos_ icon and was surprised to see a selfie of her and Charles, both grinning wildly at the camera despite the awkward angle, his arm tightly wound around her waist, their wedding bands in clear view. Given the nature of their current circumstances, Sam didn’t have any photos of them together (Save the few naughty ones in her hidden folder), let alone as a couple. Which they were not, Sam mentally affirmed, a _not-couple_. 

Charles leaned on Sam’s shoulder, taking her by surprise at the open display, clearly in violation of rule No. 2. But then, there wasn’t really any point in maintaining pretenses in front of Marshall and Dean. “You said Dean took videos?” She inquired, continuing to swipe back through her photos dated yesterday. No saved videos, but more blurry photos, some of cosplays and vendor booths. Sam stopped at a group photo in front of a ‘ _Circus de Circus Chapel of Las Vegas_ ,’ with clowns, acrobats and fireworks in the background. 

“Hand it over,” Charles demanded, hand outstretched to Dean who threw the last of his rose petals over him and Sam, neither amused at the cascade of pink and white.

“Now _hermano_ , you should be in a better mood and celebrating with your blushing bride,” Dean’s teasing stopped immediately, sensing the frigid aura emitting from Charles. He unlocked his phone and pulled up the video from the Circus de Circus Chapel, giving it to Sam who seemed the least dangerous of the two.

Setting her coffee on the tiled floor, Sam pressed play. The video began with Dean enthusiastically flinging rose petals down the aisle, switching camera views showing Sam carrying a bouquet of daisies and roses and holding Collin’s arm with juggling clowns, aerial contortionists and confetti cannons launching in the background. She and Charles watched last night’s Sam walk towards the altar where last night’s Charles stood, leaning against Marshall and a giant stuffed purple penguin? Sam glanced at Charles as he resumed drinking his coffee. She was somewhat suspicious of his calm demeanor, aware of the circumstances that ended his first marriage and his stance on relationships in general.

Internally, the tempest continued to rage within Charles, trying to maintain some semblance of control by drinking his coffee, grip tight around the paper cup. He had no intent of remarrying after Gweneth but somehow lost complete self-control and now, it seemed, watching himself repeat the words from the officiant dressed in a ringmaster’s costume, was married to Samara. _Was there something in our drinks last night?_ Charles wondered. Normally he had a high tolerance to alcohol in contrast to Samara, remembering irish coffee and ‘ _Apple Bottom Jeans’_ sung in the background.

‘ ** _I am not a compulsive man_ ** _,’_ He had once said to her, relying on keeping a firm grip over his emotions and actions to keep himself and everyone else around him in check. But now, they did the most irresponsible thing they could do in Las Vegas, hungover with missing memories and a shotgun wedding. Perhaps the tequila loosened his binding chains just enough for self-control and restraint to vanish, causing the mess they were in. He vaguely remembered the last time he had the aforementioned alcohol was a tequila sunrise during his first New Year’s celebration at Young Tech preceding the events that shall not be named. He had sworn off it since then but-

An afterimage of Samara, a trail of salt on her neck, and shot glass filled with tequila as Dean chanted ‘ _Body shots!’_ came into focus. Charles recalled snatching the glass and downing its contents, because if anyone was going to lick salt off Samara’s skin it was going to be him, dammit. Similar memories filtered in as Charles continued to watch the video, Samara’s hands in his while she repeated the vows to him. 

During dinner the previous night, he had taken a call from Mr. Young to discuss how the meeting went with the potential clients, but really it was to check in on Samara. Mrs. Young was making sure he wasn’t bombarding Samara with constant phone calls, but a phone call to Charles would entail business, and a convenient loophole. By the time Charles returned to the dinner table where they sat with Ben, Dean and Collin, Samara had finished a strawberry daiquiri and the night proceeded to roll downhill from there. He tried to keep Samara and the rest out of trouble from their antics, but after that tequila shot, it seemed he joined into the fray. He faintly remembered receiving sake bombs from Ben, scotch whisky with Collin to prove its superiority to American bourbon, and several more shots of tequila out-drinking Dean. There may have also been a trip to the slot machines and getting soaked with spilled drinks, as Charles slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a cash voucher, sticky and stained hot pink, instead of the familiar cold weight of the gold band and chain apparently no longer in his possession. He panicked, his heart thudding against his ribcage over the lost totem, a daily reminder of broken promises and the cruelty of selfish desires. And then, almost instantly, he found himself distracted by the ringmaster’s booming voice,

**_“Do you, Charles, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”_ **

**_“I do.”_ **

He was surprised how readily the answer came without hesitation. 

**_“And do you, Sam, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”_ **

**_Samara nodded her head enthusiastically, happy tears streaming down her face as Charles reached over to wipe them away._ **

When was the last time he had looked like that, Charles wondered, seeing the open expression on his face while he and Samara exchanged rings. Completely and perfectly and incandescently happy. He thought back to his first wedding, barely eighteen, nervous and overwhelmed, unsure whether he was going to throw up or have a heart attack, the memories tinged with humor and regret. Maybe it was the alcohol, but deep down, a small ember of hope sparked at the joy in Samara’s face, her arms wrapped around his neck when he leaned down to kiss her amidst the whoops, cheers, squeaky horns and whistles in the background.

“So,” Samara began hesitantly, giving the phone back to Dean, “I-It really happened?” The full weight of those words sank in deeply. “H-How did we end up at the chapel?”

Collin had entered the suite, somehow also unaffected by last night’s actions, snatching the remaining takeaway coffee. “After dinner at _Kobe,_ we went to a couple bars, a dance club and I think a magic show?” He looked to Dean for confirmation. 

“ _Si,_ the magic show was after the fabulous performance of you two on the dance floor,” Dean pulled up another video of Charles and Samara doing the tango in a nightclub. “It was _muy caliente,_ I didn’t know you two could dance so well.”

“Neither did I.” Samara flushed, secretly impressed with their coordinated steps.

“During the show, you,” Collin pointed to Charles, “Got very emotional about gay penguins adopting baby chicks, mentioned your failed marriage, cheating ex-wife and how you were destined to be alone.” Collin took a couple more sips from his latte. “Dean mentioned the best way to get over a girl is to be with a new one. Sam,” he turned his attention to Samara, “ “Strongly disagreed with helping said new girl for Charles, when he could marry her instead. And then she proposed.” 

“And I said yes?” Charles asked incredulously while Samara practically glowed pink. “You didn’t try to stop us?

“Well, Dean really wanted to be a flower girl,” Marshall offered weakly. 

“And we thrive off chaos.” Collin shrugged so nonchalantly, Charles was uncertain if he was being sarcastic or serious. 

_Chaos is an understatement,_ Charles thought, looking over at the engagement ring. He slipped his fingers under Samara’s (He still marveled over how small and delicate they were compared to his), holding her hand closer to examine the sparkling gems. He recognized the sapphire but it was an atypical color. Unlike the usual dark navy blues, it looked more like-

“The color of your eyes,” Sam whispered, the memory gradually returning with her hand gripped in his. They had raced to the nearest jewelry store after she asked Charles to marry her. “You insisted on picking out the rings. No diamonds, b-but I wanted this one because it reminded me of your eyes.” The words trailed off when Charles sat upright, recognizing the familiar hunger in his cerulean gaze locked with hers.

“Oi,” Dean interrupted, “If you’re gonna make bedroom eyes at each other, can you do it back in your room?” Sam and Charles jolted apart as if separated by an electric shock. “I was feeling generous letting you guys stay here after I caught the bouquet since you couldn’t remember which floor your rooms were on.” 

Sam found her purse hanging off the giant purple penguin featured in their wedding video near the bathroom. Although it was hazy, she remembered winning the stuffed toy at the arcade and carnival games next to the chapel. She wanted cotton candy and Charles wanted the penguin, evidently still tearful over gay penguin foster parents. Sam tentatively stood up, thankfully not feeling nauseous despite her sensitive stomach, and searched in her purse. Rummaging through its contents, she successfully found the key card sleeve tucked into her planner. “Looks like rooms 1602 and 1603?” They had booked adjoining suites with the intent to share the rooms with Sam’s friends, girls in one and boys in the other. Sam (though she wouldn’t admit to it), would’ve preferred to stay with Charles, but was quickly reminded of rules No. 1, 2, and 4 (No. 3 was barely a formality). Then again, were the rules still applicable at this point? 

She grabbed her purse and sat next to Charles. Finding the bottle of Motrin, Sam took out a couple pills, one for herself and one for Charles. “If your head feels anything like mine,” she smiled weakly, handing him the Motrin. Charles accepted it gratefully and took it with the rest of his coffee.

“Well,” Charles cleared his throat, hoping to break the awkward silence now settling in the room, “Thank you all for explaining what happened last night and for allowing us to...rest in your room, Dean.” The Latino flashed a bright smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll head back and,” Charles looked to Sam, “Figure out what happens next.

The reasonable, rational thing would be to undo the marriage. There were plenty of reasons to do so, such as being a _not-couple_ , manager and assistant, boss’s daughter and employee, and the whole, ‘making poor life-changing decisions while drunk’ that was generally viewed as a very bad, no good thing. But Sam couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to wake up and share coffee with Charles, lazy Sunday mornings and cold winter nights. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about,” Marshall interrupted Sam’s thoughts, taking some rolled up papers from his back pocket. “I did major in pre-law and from what I’ve read, it’ll take a couple days to annul the marriage, unless you wanted to proceed from California-”

“No.” Charles replied firmly. “The last thing we need is to get your family’s firm involved. And I’d prefer not to add another reason for Samara’s father to end my life.”

“He’s right,” Sam agreed, remembering Marshall’s sister, Eva, was part of the law firm on retainer for Young Tech. “We can’t let anyone else know w-what happened, so please can you keep it a secret for now?” 

“Damn, you’re right bro,” Dean stood behind Marshall, shielding himself from Sam’s sad pout, “That look is illegal.” He kneeled before Sam on bended knee. “ _Mi amor_ , as your former flower girl, I promise not to divulge your secret upon pain of death, even if Marshall’s sister promises to whip me-” Dean yelped as Collin dragged him away, painfully pulling him by the ear. 

“We promise.” Marshall crossed his heart and held up his hand, scout’s honor. “How about breakfast before you head back? We ordered room service.”  
  
“Food does sound really good, I’m starving,” Sam looked to Charles, who relented.

“As you wish, Ms. Young.” Charles helped Sam to her feet as the boys exited the bedroom, a knock on the door signaling the arrival of breakfast.

“Don’t you mean Mrs. Jones?” Sam teased, laughing at Charles’ flustered expression, his cheeks brightly pink. Placing her hand in his, she led him towards the sitting area, mouth watering at the smell of bacon and eggs. 

_For the next couple days_ , they thought to themselves, both equally curious of what other repercussions might arise as a result of this one wild night. 

\---

_Shut up and put your money where your mouth is_

_That's what you get for waking up in Vegas_

_Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes, now_

_That's what you get for waking up in Vegas_

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my awesomesauce beta, Gallifreya for keeping me on task ( UwU). I was inspired by one of my fav asian dramas Fated to Love You (Both Taiwanese and Korean versions) and invisible string by T-Swift. There may be some similarities, there may not. So if you've seen the series, spoilers darlings ; ) 
> 
> Translations:  
> Oh fy nuw - Oh my God


	2. Bet my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall uses his smarts. Charles puts his foot in his mouth. Sam seduces. Bubbles and mayhem. Vikki is a damn KWEEN. [Mature warning for steamy sauna scenes]

\---

_Is it real, is it fake_

_Would you leave, would you stay_ _?_

 _Will the night turn into day_ _?_

\---

While sipping on his second cup of coffee, Marshall silently observed Charles and Sam as the pair went over the legal paperwork certifying their marriage. From a distance, it would seem like they were nothing more than workplace associates, casual acquaintances at best. But he was taught to appreciate the small details, subtle movements which, when added together, depicted something else entirely.

 _Everything can be revealed in a single glance,_ Baba once said summers ago, humid evenings spent sketching in the garden, _You just need to know where to look._ His sister had taken their grandmother’s teachings and honed them ruthlessly, sharpened knives wielded with deadly accuracy, besting her opponents in the judicial circuit and the fencing ring. Unlike his sister, however, he couldn’t bear to use his knowledge to hurt or maim others to suit his ambitions. After all, it was because of his octopus heart he was so profoundly affected by what happened to Sam as a result of his negligence and ignorance. Perhaps it was also why he was willing to keep their secrets, not to mention he still technically owed the Welshman sitting across from him for his life-saving CPR when he’d passed out in front of Sam’s apartment before EMS arrived.

They appeared to be complete opposites, Charles, cool and outwardly confident, and Sam, shy yet determined. But watching them, you didn’t need eyes to see how they were drawn to each other as if compelled by their own gravitational pull. The way his hand lingered near hers in an almost hold, how she would look over her glasses and bite her lower lip, caramel eyes fixated on how he ran his fingers through his hair. When Sam shifted her legs on the couch, her knees grazing his, Charles turned slightly, his head angled towards her. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop furrowing your brow so,” Charles murmured on seeing Sam’s creased forehead, deeply concentrated over some legalese she was having some trouble deciphering. He reached over to smoothen the lines with his fingertips while Sam leaned into his touch. _If they were trying to hide it before_ , Marshall took a bite from his omelet, _They’re doing a pretty terrible job of it now._

Granted, Marshall had the unfortunate burden of knowledge concerning the newlywed couple as the sole sober member of their group from last night with his memories still intact. Over the past weeks, Marshall had seen Sam become more confident, a little braver and bolder than when they had first met, possibly thanks to Charles’ influence (if last night was any indication). He had his suspicions that Sam was seeing someone, the walls between their apartments outside from his soundproofed streaming area were pretty thin after all. But he was genuinely surprised it was Charles when Sam confessed her frustration and feelings for the Brit after downing her first daiquiri, begging Marshall to never tell Charles. And then, adding more to the bungled mess they were in, Charles had done nearly the same, professing his growing affection for Sam after his second sake bomb, ranting how she deserved to be with a good man and not burdened with a villain such as himself. Much to Marshall’s shock, those mutual feelings may have run deeper than he expected, when Sam asked Charles to marry her. And somewhere between his angst over his ex-wife and sobs over gay penguins, he said yes. _Complicated is an understatement_ , Marshall contemplated as he silently fumed into his coffee mug. 

“It looks like everything is in order,” Charles set his papers down and nibbled on some toast to ease his stomach.

Sam leafed through the documents once more. She was considerably impressed with the legible words written across the forms despite their inebriated state from the previous night. “We’re actually married.”

“I did already tell you,” Marshall speared the rest of his omelet on his fork, “Pre-law remember?” He gestured to himself before eating his eggs.

“Emphasis on _pre_ ,” Charles countered, “We wanted to go through the paperwork just to be sure.” He needed to see it with his own eyes, immediately recognizing his neat (and surprisingly readable) cursive next to Samara’s handwriting etched across the pages, affirming their assent to be married. His fingers anxiously itched to clasp the familiar ring and chain, but remembering their absence, settled on subtly rubbing his thumb against the new band taking its place. 

He thought it would feel like a noose, tight and suffocating, another reminder of his foolishness. 

But despite its weight, it also felt warm and reassuring, not unlike the woman sitting beside him. He snuck a look at Samara, who was also fidgeting with the matching ring on her hand. This incredibly kind woman who defended him on his behalf time and time again, who was brave and brilliant and deserved to be seen as such by the whole damn world. The one whose body vibrated with his ( _only his_ ) every time he held her in stolen moments and starlit dawns. The very _fewyn_ he clearly had difficulty saying no to. _Ach, what’s wrong with me,_ Charles scolded himself, mentally chastising his sentimentality as self-control took hold once more. He was hired at Young Tech for his problem-solving skills and expertise, so it was time for him to do exactly that. “I’ll need to do some research on the quickest way for an annulment, but I can do that back in my room. We shouldn’t impose on you too much longer.” 

“It’s no trouble, you’re welcome to hang out with us anytime for future adventures,” Dean winked mischievously as the color drained from the faces of the newlyweds. “And don’t worry, we promise your secret is safe with us.” He and Marshall looked pointedly at Collin who was distractedly playing with his Funtindo game.

“Hmm? Yeah, we promise, on pain of death, even if Eva whips Dean.” The chaos-thriver replied flatly, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose while Marshall groaned, clearly uncomfortable with the references to his sister.

“Well if anything it would be Eva asking Dean to whip her.” Charles mentioned off-handedly while finishing his coffee. Apparently, there was still some tequila in his system as the words escaped faster than his brain could process them, the tension gradually building in the room. _Cachu,_ he silently cursed at his idiocy, noting the strange light reflecting off of Collin’s glasses, flustered shock from Ben, rapt attention from Dean and absolute stillness from Samara. He immediately swallowed the hot liquid and cleared his throat. “Look at the time,” Charles made a big show of looking at his watch which read **10:45** _,_ “Samara, didn’t you say your friends would be arriving around noon?”

Sam grabbed her phone and looked through her text messages, momentarily distracted. “They’re running a little behind but, oh,” Sam paused at a recent text from Vikki showing fields of flowers in the desert landscape, “I guess they’re stopping by Mojave National Park to see the superbloom.”

“That should give us enough time to shower and get dressed,” Charles began gathering the papers, nearly stumbling when Dean mentioned the luxury bathtubs with whirlpool jets large enough to fit 4 people in the suites.

Marshall stood to help Sam and Charles gather their things, grabbing the giant purple penguin and handing it to Charles. “Can’t forget this guy.” Marshall grimaced, ignoring the pulse in his lower jaw as he was still stuck on trying not to think of Charles and Eva in any romantic or physical capacity, for his sake and Sam’s. He was immediately roused from his internal chanting of _don’t think don’t think don’t think,_ when Sam held onto his forearm.

“Thank you Marshall,” Sam said, her smile gentle and warm, “We owe you one.”

“How about a Bash Bros rematch when we get back,” He grinned in reply.

“Sure! Chinese takeout and boba?” 

“Awesome, it’s a date.” Marshall smirked at the unmistakable twitch of Charles’ eyebrow when he secured their items, purple penguin tucked under one arm and paperwork in the other hand. 

“Are you ready, Samara?” Marshall observed how quickly Sam’s attention shifted to the blond man extending his arm to her. Sam let go of his arm and walked towards Charles, her small hands wrapped around his elbow. A single glance, just one glance was all it took for him, quietly watching them exchange a look of mutual appreciation for the other, affection etched in their expressions. At least, that’s what Marshall hoped. As their friendship grew, Marshall recognized how smart and funny and incredible and beautiful Sam was, and wanted to continue making up for his initial blunders as her beta tester and her friend. But he sincerely wished for Sam’s happiness and maybe it was with Charles. If the two idiots would just be honest with themselves. _I hope you do a better job than I did,_ Marshall waved as Sam and Charles departed, _She deserves nothing less than all of the stars in the sky._

_===_

Sam and Charles entered the elevator, both acutely aware it was the first time they had been alone together since Marshall and Dean had burst into the master suite. “So...whips?” Sam broke the silence, her face stony and flat. 

Charles could feel a bead of sweat forming as the hairs on the back of his neck stood. “It was a long time ago.” He replied honestly. 

“Seems like the kind of information you should share with your wife.” 

Somehow all the air in the elevator had escaped and Charles wondered why it was taking so long to reach their floor. “Samara, we agreed and it’s not like we’re actually married-” Never was Charles so thankful to hear the ding of the elevator as it arrived on their floor, quick to escape its tight confines with Samara still holding onto his arm.

“I’m joking, Charles,” Sam reassured, bringing her teasing to an end. Maybe it was a little wrong, but she couldn’t help but enjoy the clear distress on his face since it was so rare to catch him off kilter. Sometimes she struggled to find her footing around Charles, as he always seemed to be one step ahead, just barely out of reach. But today, it seemed the world was upside down and they were both trying to adjust. “I know you’ve been with other women besides me.”

“Yes, but none since you.” He focused on the numbered doors, looking for rooms 1602 and 1603. It was the truth, plain and simple. There hadn’t ( _couldn’t)_ be anyone else while they shared a bed. But saying it aloud made him feel more exposed than he cared to admit. He was the one who first suggested the rules: no one finding out, no PDA, no spending the night, no attachments. Because attachments led to feelings, feelings led to vulnerability, and vulnerability was a weakness. It led to openings people could sneak through and take advantage of, crushing you from the inside out. A pain he was all too familiar with. The words from his former friend, the _first_ Sam, rattled through his brain, 

_“People are tools, mate, a means to an end in this business. If you start thinking of them as human beings with hearts and souls, they can slither in and destroy you from the inside out. They always do. Don’t give them that chance.”_

In retrospect, maybe Charles should’ve seen it for the warning it was, the moment before the scorpion strike. Temptation before the fall. Despite their wanton cruelty, the words helped him refocus when they found their assigned rooms.

Sam could see it, the moment he lowered his guard with that simple declaration, adding another spark to the hope she kept hidden away. Yes, at first, she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to get married let alone be in a relationship when they first agreed on this arrangement. No vows. No obligations. No promises. But she knew she wanted more, an absolute truth that shone almost as brightly as the sapphire on her hand. 

_No vows. No promises, huh,_ the irony of her thoughts mocked her as she pulled out the key cards, handing the one to 1603 to Charles. “I really need a shower and a change of clothes.”

“Same here,” Charles used the key to unlock room 1603. “I’ll come over when I’m finished, and then we’ll talk.”  
  
Sam nodded almost reluctantly, her head spinning from last night’s revelations to the papers in Charles’ hands. “I’ll see you.” She disappeared into room 1602, setting her bag on the couch. She unlocked the door to the adjoining suite so Charles could enter from his room. Entering the bedroom she had picked to stay in, she shed her clothes and tossed them on the bed. Sam opened the closet and took out a soft bathrobe, considering Dean’s earlier recommendation to take a bath in one of the two bathrooms in this suite. Slipping into the robe, Sam grabbed her phone and walked to the bathroom directly across from her. She scrolled through her remaining messages while turning on the faucets, warm water filling the deep tub. She set her phone and glasses on a nearby stack of plush towels and went back to her room to pick out her outfit for the day when she noticed the two suitcases in her room, hers and Charles’. In their haste to meet with yesterday’s client, Charles left his suitcase and travel bag in her room out of convenience, but also, Sam suspected, hoping to spend the night with her before moving into the adjoining suite prior to her friends’ arrival. 

Upon hearing footsteps, Sam turned to see Charles standing in the doorframe. “I forgot I left my things with you.” Sam bit her lip, watching him ruffle his messy hair. It was almost a rare sighting, seeing Charles so unkempt in his wrinkled navy blue oxford and stained charcoal trousers. A small, wicked voice emerged, darkly contemplating how she’d like to mess him up even more. 

Charles walked forward and grasped the luggage handle. Since he was there, he figured they might as well stop trying to avoid the subject, “We really need to talk about what happened-”

“To be honest, I’m kinda tired and I don’t feel much like talking right now. But I think I’d feel better after a bath.” Sam moved past him and into the bathroom. She undid the knot, letting the white robe slip onto the floor. “Unless,” she stood in the entryway, fair skin and sinuous figure, “You w-wanted to join me?” 

Charles’ gaze traveled up and down Samara’s frame, he could never take his eyes away from her, from this body he was beginning to know all too well, the curve of her hip to the bare skin he achingly wanted to touch. He set aside the hyper-rationalized part of his brain, despite the loud protests arguing that’s what got them into trouble in the first place. He was awake. Mostly sober, but tired. Tired and wanting to fall into familiar patterns and practices, taking comfort in knowing the softness of her lips and the feel of her skin against his. 

“You make an excellent negotiator, Mrs. Jones,” Charles let go of the suitcase and moved towards Samara. He found almost perverse satisfaction in how she reacted to being called _Mrs. Jones_ , the way she shivered as he pulled her into a deep kiss, an arm wrapping her waist, fingers fisted in her hair. He tugged forcefully at the dark waves, breaking the kiss to nip at her throat and drinking in her throaty moans as he continued lower and lower, a trail of teeth, tongue and hands tracing their way down until his lips found the swell of her breast. 

Sam’s knees nearly buckled from the onslaught of sensations, leaning against the doorframe, Charles’ tongue swirling around the nipple of one breast while roughly palming the other. She whimpered when his tongue suddenly receded, gasping at the cold air upon her skin until he captured her lips once more. Sam reached forward, fingers slipping into his waistband as she pulled him towards her, hips flush against hers. Biting his lower lip, she quickly undid the belt buckle, divesting him of his trousers and boxer briefs in one swift movement. 

Charles practically flung his oxford across the bathroom tiles, resisting the urge to thrust against Samara’s skillful hands. Her fingers encircled his shaft, moving along the length of him, pausing momentarily when his fingers slipped inside her, his thumb gently pressed against her clit. He rested his forehead against hers as she resumed her movements, matching her stroke for stroke. Stormy blues locked onto whisky browns, daring the other to see who would break first. 

Victory fanfare practically buzzed through the air when Charles broke free. He grabbed Sam’s wrists, looping them around his neck while lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. “I think you need to cool off, Mrs. Jones, lest we be too premature.” Another involuntary shudder shot down Sam’s spine, trying to dampen the desire the words evoked. She barely noticed the almost menacing grin on Charles’ face until she realized they stood at the foot of the bathtub, shouting in disapproval as they went into the water. 

Sam sputtered upon resurfacing, leaning over to smack Charles’ shoulder while he pulled her onto his lap. “You play dirty, Mr. Jones,” she splashed at him, taking advantage of her current position by rolling her hips against him.

“All is fair in love and war, my dear.” Charles responded in kind, moving his hips so he was aligned with her center, the victory fanfare continuing to ring. And ring. And ring. 

Until they both realized it was an actual cell phone ringtone. Sam’s in fact, as she looked around and found the ringing object on the pile of towels far from the splash zone. Seeing the caller ID as her dad’s, she quickly swiped to accept the call. “Hi Dad,” Sam sat on the edge of the bathtub while Charles lowered himself, eyes barely visible above the water. 

“ ** _Hi Pumpkin! I just wanted to see how you were doing this morning, I was getting a little worried when you didn’t pick up right away. Are you having fun in Vegas? Not too much fun I hope._ **”

“Oh, we just finished having breakfast with our friends from dinner last night.” Sam watched Charles drift towards her, his hands on her thighs. “Nothing too crazy,” she made noncommittal sounds to move the conversation along as her dad commented about her mother, Bowser, and vague threats to deport Charles if he did anything inappropriate to her. “Dad stop worrying about Charles,” She smirked when the aforementioned troublemaker gently pulled her back into the water, positioning her onto his lap once more. “He’s back in his room p-probably doing p-paperwork or ah, something,” Sam paused when he entered her, slowly, almost painstakingly. “My friends should get here soon. Thanks again, ah, for the passes.” She bit her lip, trembling as she slid further until she was fully seated on top of Charles. “Hmm? Oh I’m just about to take a-a bath,” she nearly squeaked after her dad asked about the background noise, Charles shifting his hips and moving at a leisurely pace. Gripping the bathtub rim with her free hand, she inhaled deeply, “I’ll call you back w-when I’m finished.” She hung up, switching the phone to vibrate mode before tossing it back onto the towel pile. 

“Well done, Bunty,” Charles praised, rewarding her with a nip of her earlobe. “Now where were we?” 

===

“I hate to admit it, but Dean was right, this is a very nice bathtub.” Charles could almost fully extend his legs, his feet propped against the edge of the tub. Samara sat across from him, blissfully enjoying the jacuzzi jets massaging her shoulders and other aching muscles. She playfully swiped at the bubbles that practically hid her from view, blowing a bubble cloud that landed on his nose. They had drained the tub from earlier but decided to indulge themselves with a second bath since neither could recall the last time they did something just to relax. 

Since the completion of the Ellesmere project, it had been nothing but a consecutive series of meetings, proposals and more projects. The whole objective of this current trip was again, another prospective partnership, but with the added bonus for Samara and her friends to enjoy themselves at StormCon. Between that and their secret meetings, there hadn’t been many opportunities to take a break. Although, Charles contemplated, lifting his hand out of the water to look at the wedding band still on his ring finger, there may be even fewer chances, depending on what happened next.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sam broke the silence. She supposed now was as good of a time as any to talk, seeing Charles’ conflicted expression as he stared at his left hand.

“Might as well be a whole quid at this point.” He mused darkly that the ring hadn’t been tarnished by the skin underneath. “I am sorry, Samara, truly. I should’ve done a better job of protecting you, instead of losing control like I did. Your father charged me with your well-being and-”

“If anything,” Sam interrupted, “I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who got drunk and proposed to you in the first place, despite _my_ better judgement.” She sat up and floated a little closer to Charles. “And did you tell me that I needed to make my own decisions and stand by those choices as an adult? E-even if it means coming into conflict with those around me?” 

“But I should’ve had enough sense to say no,” Charles countered, “I have to be responsible for my actions as well as inactions. And the best course of action is to have an annulment.”

“Is being married to me such a b-bad thing?” Sam tried to play it off lightheartedly to ease the tension, but her stilted laughter made it awkward and flat. She tucked her knees to her chest, hoping the massive bubbles would mask her body and her sudden insecurities.

“No, it’s not that,” Charles said abruptly, the words more brusque than he intended, “It’s just,” he softened, pulling Samara towards him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders while she tucked her head under his chin, feeling the guilty twinge at her despondence. He never wanted to be the source of her sadness. “If you ever decide to get married,” Memories filtered through of _stone chapels, flower arches, and vanilla cake_ , “It should be with you in a beautiful gown, surrounded by your loved ones,” _Being careful not to stain his white rental tux, his hand in Gweneth’s as they had their first dance as husband and wife,_ “Making your vows to someone who loves you unconditionally, someone worthy of you, someone special.” _Someone whole._ “Not a cantankerous, divorced man,” _It shouldn’t be me._ “Also probably best if you’re able to remember the whole event, not relying on secondhand accounts because of how sloshed you were.” 

Sam leaned over, straddling his lap as she held his face between her hands and softly bunted his forehead, “How many times do I have to tell you that you are special to me, Charles?”

 _She had done it again,_ Charles was practically unnerved by her directness and sincerity, _All of my defenses falling at her feet._ Every single rule wiped away in a single night by this tiny creature, the Oncoming Storm, who seemed to blast through every barrier he set in place. Never had he imagined what she was truly capable of when he decided to become more involved in her life as a mentor, as a friend. Never had he considered the role she would play in _his_ , all of his organized boxes and rows blown away, established boundaries between want and need falling apart, link by link. He was amazed. He was terrified. For once, he wasn’t sure which one would emerge victorious. His fear? Or his desire? 

“Bunty, while I appreciate your kind words,” Charles deflected, returning her bunt with an affectionate nuzzle, his nose playfully brushing hers, “We should probably get out of the tub and get dressed,” His hands trailed down her spine and cupped her ass, “Unless you wanted to go for round two?”

Before Sam could respond, wonderfully distracted by Charles’ wandering hands, she heard the clicking sounds of a door unlocking. Charles’ hands froze, twin looks of shock and terror exchanged between the two. 

“Sam?” Angela called out, tossing her luggage onto the sitting area. Looking around the suite, she whistled; three bedrooms, two baths, and an upstairs loft. Sometimes it was good to have friends with considerable assets. Olivia and Mr. Young had booked the adjoining suites, sparing no expense. 

“I’m in the bathroom,” Sam frantically checked for Charles’ clothes which were set aside in a nearby corner. She grabbed one of the large fluffy towels and tossed it, mentally cheering when it reached its target, hiding the oxford and pants underneath. “Just taking a bath!”

“A bath sounds amazing after being stuck in the car with Dallas for 4 hours” Angela wandered over to the bathroom as Vikki entered the suite.

“I thought you guys weren’t gonna be here until later?” Sam tossed a bath bomb in the tub, adding more fizz and color, lending further obscurity to the water.

“There was an announcement that Snowstorm was releasing an exclusive digital expansion pack this afternoon but you have to be onsite at the convention center.” Vikki chimed in, picking up on an unfamiliar wavelength, maybe two, coming from the bathroom. 

“Yeah, so we skipped the superbloom and raced over. Pretty sure Edgar broke the sound barrier getting us here.” Angela joked, fingers wrapped around the door jamb. “I gotta check out this tub, dibs when you’re finished Sam.”

“I think there’s another one upstairs in the loft?” Sam wriggled off Charles’ lap, pressing on his shoulders as he reluctantly shut his eyes and disappeared under the bubbles.

“We’ll check on that one too,” Angela opened the door, shock tracing her features, “Whoa, what did you do in here?” She looked around, seeing the splash puddles and Sam practically engulfed by bath bubbles.

“Oh, n-nothing, just had some trouble with the jets.” Sam gathered more bubbles around her figure, hoping her friends wouldn’t come closer.

“Jets?” A bright glint entered Angela’s eyes, “Now I definitely need to get in that tub, you could fit like four or five people in there!”

Panic surged as Angela lifted the hem of her shirt, only to be stopped when Vikki placed a hand on Angela’s. “You can stop teasing, Angela, Sam deserves to have her bath in peace, it’s been a very stressful couple of weeks for her.” A wave of relief passed as Vikki guided Angela away from the bathtub. “We need to go back downstairs to help the guys with the rest of the luggage, I think Edgar and Olivia went to check out the casino, something about needing to exact her revenge on a poker player, not sure. Take your time, Sam,” she tilted her head slightly, “Enjoy your bath and whatever you need to _do_.” Vikki emphasized with a discerning smile, shutting the door behind her. 

It was a little terrifying knowing how insightful Vikki was between her sixth and seventh senses, but never was Sam more thankful for her intuitive friend. She tapped underwater Charles, giving him the all clear to resurface and helped wipe the soap suds from his eyes with a towel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.”  
  
“I’m quite alright Samara,” Charles reached over to drain the tub. “After all, I’m very good at holding my breath for long periods of time.” He smirked as Samara playfully shoved him, amused at the pink tint on her cheeks from what he implied.

They stood up, carefully exiting the tub and covering themselves with towels to quickly dry off. Sam put on her glasses and grabbed her phone and discarded robe, while Charles changed back into his clothes from last night. Tying the robe around her waist, Sam snatched Charles’ suitcase and travel bag, handing them off to him as he walked towards the adjoining suite doors. 

Charles turned to face Samara after feeling her tug his shirtsleeve. He stiffened upon seeing her hold her wedding band, the gesture prompting unkind memories of when Gweneth had asked for a divorce. 

“We s-should hide these for now, until we figure things out, right?” Sam placed the ring in Charles’ left hand, the metal clinking together as she closed his palm around the matching bands. 

He was being an idiot. “Yes, you’re right.” Here he was prattling on about annulments and forgetting the most important piece of evidence, solid proof of their actions from last night. “I’ll hold onto them.” He took off his wedding band, pocketing both his and Samara’s rings in his trousers. “Go have fun with your friends, Bunty.” Charles leaned down to kiss Samara’s forehead, his hand resting against her cheek, unable to suppress the warmth he felt every time she leaned into his touch. “I’ll be doing more research on how to resolve our current...predicament. And we can talk again when you get back from the convention center, I know how much you want that digital expansion pack.” He chuckled at her flushed expression, evidently hitting a direct bullseye on her afternoon plans, before sneaking down for another quick kiss. “I’ll see you soon.” Samara waved as Charles exited her suite and entered his, closing the door behind him. 

He walked up to the loft he chose for himself before the rest of Samara’s guild party arrived, setting his things near the bed where the giant purple penguin sat on top of the marriage paperwork. Opting for a quick shower before he got started, Charles pulled the wedding rings from his pocket, eyeing them apprehensively. Despite his misgivings, he silently praised himself on having excellent taste contrary to his inebriated state. The sapphire ring he chose for Samara suited her very well as if it was made specifically for her. _I certainly hope I’d take greater deliberations in selecting a ring for Sam-_ Charles froze, cursing his itinerant thoughts before shoving the rings in a selected pocket hidden in his travel bag. Rubbing his temples, he selected his outfit for today then entered the adjacent bathroom for a mind-numbing cold shower, needing to clear his head of the auburn-haired woman who continued to invade his thoughts and (although he would never admit it aloud), perhaps his heart.

\---

_Would I lose_

_If I bet my heart on you_

_I don't wanna slow down_

_Won't you let me know now_

_Would I lose, oh_

_If I bet my heart on you_

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait friends, this chapter took a little longer than I anticipated (*sweatdrop*) As always, much tanks to my dearest darlingest beta Gallifreya for getting through this chapter, especially the steamy bits oooo mama (*fans self*). Next up, chaos at the convention center! 
> 
> Welsh Translations  
> fewyn = female  
> cachu = shit


	3. Everybody Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's dangerous to go alone, take this!  
> [Please select companion to accompany you on this quest].  
> Everybody's got somebody, but is the one they really want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many and infinite thanks to my beta/soul sister/twinny/dear heart Gallifreya for keeping me on track [Grad school thou art a heartless bish]. Also, I remembered Marshall's decision to stay sober in the LP universe so I made some corrections in chapters 1 & 2\. Slightly mature for semi-steamy bits and mild angst for our lovely idiots. Enjoy!

\---

_ Oh my my _

_ Everybody talks, everybody talks _

_ Everybody talks, too much _

_ \--- _

Sam had finished cleaning up the bathroom and was nearly done blow-drying her hair when Angela and Vikki returned with several luggage sets, mostly Olivia’s). She quickly changed into a dark purple (Monica called it mauve?) tunic and leggings to help her friends unpack, especially their cosplay items, gently lifting the pieces from their protective wrappings. They had two sets of costumes, one for this afternoon while at the convention center, the other for the cosplay competition and masquerade after-party. Sam had some initial hesitancy with wearing the costume intended for the cosplay competition, but ample encouragement from the girls and steady rise in confidence over the past several weeks helped surpass that hurdle. Also, the possibility of Charles seeing her in said costume was an added bonus. She bit her lower lip, imagining his hands, fingertips trailing against the exposed skin revealed by the high cut of her gown, tracing circles towards her inner thighs. Sam sighed as she recalled those very hands from earlier in the bathtub, somewhat saddened their time together had been cut short by her friends’ unexpected arrival. But also remembering the near rush at almost being caught together, the increasingly familiar wicked voice darkly whispering,  _ Admit it, you  _ **_like_ ** _ it.  _

The thoughts quickly dissipated when Sam bumped into Vikki, their shoulders knocking together as she stumbled forward. Vikki caught her from falling, one hand braced against her shoulder, the other grasped around Sam’s scarred palm. “Sorry about that,” Sam apologized, “Guess I’m a little distracted.”

“No worries, Sam,” Vikki smiled gently, proceeding to help Sam organize the accessories and cosplay pieces according to each of their guild characters. _There is it, that unfamiliar hum_. Vikki chewed her inner lip thoughtfully. It was subtle at best, no thicker than a strand, seemingly twining about her dear friend. Normally, she had a better grasp on the wavelengths of the people around her, especially her immediate circle. Each person had one, a specific thrum that ebbed and flowed about like invisible threads, threads that tangled; threads that frayed; threads that were unexpectedly cut; threads that connected. Some strands were tenuous, fainter than spider’s silk. Some held fast, bound by friendship and love, despite the unexpected griefs and tragedies of life. Some were taut and ready to snap. But some were stronger than steel and shone brighter than gold, bringing hearts and souls together in unexpected ways.

Vikki was more apt to see the tangles, the frayed and broken. It was a very useful skill with her clients, knowing how to unravel the knots and guide them towards the right direction. However, this particular hum, for lack of a better word, threw off her empath mojo. Vikki had her suspicions about Sam and the blue-eyed Welshman she was spending more of her time with, recalling their initial meeting at The Daily Grind, how he seemed encased in frozen steel walls, iron chains and barbed wire. But she sensed a deep sadness and longing underneath the outer layer of frost that seemed to gradually thaw in Sam’s presence, remembering his gentleness with her despite his brusque exterior. Sam hadn’t had much interest in relationships or love in the years they had known each other, but Vikki recognized the change in her dear one over the past weeks and was patient enough not to pry until she was ready to share. And she hoped she would soon, feeling mildly flushed at the unbidden images of Sam and Charles (In various states of dress and undress) entering her mind when Sam’s palm was pressed against hers.  _ And penguins? Purple penguins?  _ She was confused by that last image, blurred and barely decipherable. 

Vikki looked up at Angela, who was sitting on the sofa making last minute repairs to her cosplay armor, and sighed. She hoped all of her friends would be more forthcoming about their secrets and situations, there was only so much a girl could keep to herself. Granted Olivia and Edgar were enigmas to begin with, but even Abe had been oddly preoccupied since they found out they would be attending StormCon, courtesy of Mr. Young. Then again, she had her own discretions, her phone vibrating with a text notification. ‘ **Are you free to talk?** ’

\---

Marshall sat by the poolside, dangling his feet in the water. Dean was getting ready to take over the Spanish commentary for the WoW tournament games this afternoon while Collin was reviewing his notes for an upcoming Glitch stream, hissing when Marshall suggested heading down to the pool and mentioning how he needed to avoid direct sunlight ( _ it burns us _ , were the exact words). A couple fans had approached him, this hotel was one of several endorsed by StormCon, but for the most part he was left alone, enjoying the simple pleasures of warm air and sunlight. 

“There you are,” Marshall lifted his head, turning slightly to see Vikki standing nearby.

“Thanks for coming down to meet me,” he smiled appreciatively as Vikki sat down beside him. “Sam mentioned you guys weren’t coming in until later.”

“Well that was before they announced the digital expansion exclusive at the convention center this afternoon, everyone’s getting ready with their cosplays and we’ll head over in a little bit.” 

Marshall glanced over Vikki’s usual athleisure outfit consisting of a loose-fitting tee and yoga pants. “Are you not going in cosplay either?”

“Oh, I am, it’s just my outfit isn’t as elaborate compared to the rest of the guild’s so it won’t take long. Plus it gives me enough time to come talk to you,” Vikki leaned over, resting her head against her propped knee while her other foot dipped in the water. “What’s on your mind, Marshall?”

Marshall sighed heavily, leaning back on his palms, his eyes upward at the cloudless sky. “So...I have this friend and he’s struggling to keep secrets for these two friends, one really big secret from all of their mutual friends, but also secrets from each other? And my friend is willing to keep the big secret, secret,” He paused, trying to keep the story straight without revealing too many details. “But he’s wondering if he should tell these two friends,” he glanced at Vikki.

“The secrets they’re hiding from each other?”

“Right, cause if he did there’d be less confusion about their situation and possibly make them really happy together.” Marshall thought back to the previous night when Sam sat on his lap after her first daiquiri and Charles had nearly sobbed into his shoulder, both parties begging him not to say anything to the other. 

“But you’re not sure if it’s your place to say because they told you in confidence.” Marshall nodded at her words. “You’re right, that’s a lot of secrets to hold onto. Are you sure those secrets are safe with me?” Vikki teased.

“I mean,” Marshall stalled a bit, “I don’t mean to burden you with my problems, but you’ve been so great with meditation and getting me into counselling and  _ everything, _ ” his voice trailed off, a light blush across his cheekbones, thinking about the last time Vikki helped him find...release when he was medically cleared for his taco heart and he and Monica were on a break. Technically they were still on a break, but had made plans to meet up on a  _ real  _ date when he got back from Vegas, so he couldn’t help but be anxious and hopeful all at once.

“Just teasing,” Vikki playfully stuck out her tongue, “I meant it, you can talk to me any time or if you need a hug or... _ release _ .” She smiled, gently nudging Marshall’s shoulder as he covered his now beet-red face with an expansive palm. “Just as long as you keep up with mediation and counselling and being good to our Sam. How’s counselling going?”

“Really good, actually.” Marshall leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s only been a couple sessions and I still have a ways to go, but my counselor’s helping me figure things out.” 

"That's good to hear," said Vikki. There was a beat of silence before she continued, "Those  _ 'friends' _ you were talking about are Sam and Charles, right?"

"SORCERESS!" Marshall accused dramatically as he scooched away from Vikki, splashing them both in his haste.

“Monk actually,” Vikki corrected, lifting her foot from the water, shaking off a few droplets and tucking it under the opposite ankle. “I had a feeling about those two, especially Sam. Something just seems a little off and I can’t really explain why,” she pondered, traces of concern and bemusement crossing her features.

"It’s scary how you do that, I mean, no,” he quickly backtracked, “I didn’t mention anything about Sam or Charles or any shenanigans they might have gotten into last night.” He slapped his hands across his mouth as if to prevent any more details from leaking out.

“You don’t have to say anything you’re not comfortable sharing with me, Marshall,” Vikki reassured him. “But if I just happen to guess what happened,” she added slyly, “Then at least you can say you kept your promise.”

Mentally chanting,  _ don’t look don’t look don’t look, _ Marshall avoided making direct eye contact with Vikki whose aura of benevolence seemed to radiate brighter than the desert sun. It would be so easy to just tell her what had happened, to ease the burden of knowledge. But no, he was a man of his word, his honor! And he promised Sam and Charles he wouldn't say anything, especially to one of Sam’s best friends. 

“Oh my, this must be serious,” Vikki said sincerely, “Really Marshall, you don’t have to say anything to me, I promise it’s okay,” she turned to face him, arms open in a welcoming gesture.

Marshall glanced at Vikki, his resolve momentarily wavering at the offered hug. Vikki really did give the best hugs (not to mention that one move where she could tuck her foot behind her ear). He quickly shook his head and slapped his cheeks. He had to resist. He had to-

“There, there, Vikki’s here,” she pulled Marshall towards her, placing his head under her chin as one arm encircled his neck and the other smoothed down his hair. 

He was weak. Marshall could picture the words flashing above them, **Vikki uses Magic Hug!** **It's** **SUPER EFFECTIVE!** “I didn’t get much sleep last night ‘cause of all the trouble those two got themselves into. Plus the chaos that Dean and Collin seem to thrive off of.” Vikki continued patting his head sympathetically, he had told her some of the recent pranks they had played on him. 

“Would it have anything to do with purple penguins?” Vikki felt Marshall become rigid in her embrace.  _ Bingo. _

“Sam won a giant purple penguin for Charles at a carnival game. He got really emotional about gay penguins.” Marshall listened to the steady beat of Vikki’s heart, his ear pressed against her chest. “I can tell they care a lot about each other, but neither is willing to make the first move. And I just want Sam to be happy, she’s a good friend and she means a lot to me.” Sam had been there for him as a fan, a friend , and now a co-creator allowing him to help with the designs for Evermake. “I don’t want to see her get hurt.”  _ I’ve done enough damage in that department,  _ Marshall thought melancholically. He grabbed Vikki’s hand in his hair, gently holding her palm against his, setting it down as he sat upright. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to glom onto you like that, but you do give the best hugs.” He gave a half-hearted grin. 

“It’s okay Marshall,” Vikki gave a quick squeeze of his palm, “I’m just glad to see you’re doing better. And whatever’s going on with your friends, I think being honest is important, but I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. ” Several images passed, Marshall looking at Sam and Charles standing in front of a ringmaster, hands held tightly together, with purple penguins and shining sapphires. She silently thanked him, adding another piece to the ongoing puzzle. “Say, would you like to come upstairs and say ‘hi’ to Abe and the guild? You can see our floor costumes and maybe if you’re good, you’ll see what we’ve got planned for the cosplay contest tonight.”

“That’d be great, I haven’t talked to Abe since the last yoga class and I’d love to see everyone’s costumes.” Marshall stood up, helping Vikki onto her feet. “Lead the way.”

\---

Vikki knocked on the door to room 1603, giving an affectionate wave when Abe opened the door. “Heya! I brought you a visitor,” Vikki gestured to Marshall standing behind her.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Abe grabbed Marshall’s forearm pulling him into a friendly hug. “I didn’t know you’d be at StormCon.”

“My friend Dean’s one of the commentators for the WoW tournament and invited me and our other friend Collin to come with. Snowstorm got him a suite and everything.” Marshall whistled, looking inside the room. “Looks like you guys got a pretty sweet setup here too.” He looked up at the flight of stairs and saw Charles sitting in the loft area, heavily focused on the laptop screen in front of him while jotting notes.  _ Guess he wasn’t kidding about doing his research,  _ he thought when Abe invited him and Vikki inside. “Your braids look awesome, by the way. You’re going as Yemoja?” Marshall had seen Abe’s avatar, a shapeshifting druid-class Nubian queen with waist-length braids and leopard spots.

“Sam’s dad offered to pay for this room and Olivia’s covering the other,” Abe walked over to the couch where his cosplay items were laid out, “I think I sat in the chair for hours getting laced,” Abe ran his fingers through the locks intertwined with his natural hair. “But yeah, once we found out we were going to StormCon, we decided to cosplay as our guild. Had to threaten Dallas with 500 DKP if he didn’t agree to dress up with us.” He snapped the bracers over his forearms. Granted his character was female and feline, but he was planning on saving the body paint and prosthetics for tonight’s contest. 

With that in mind, Abe glanced at his phone for what seemed the millionth time, thinking of the last text message he received when they got to the room.  **‘Can’t wait to finally meet you in person, see you soon!’** He was already dressed in a modified version of his avatar’s outfit, a fitted maroon midriff top, black sash with gold chains hung low around his hips, and matching maroon breechcloth revealing muscular thighs in fitted compression tights. Grabbing the green armor mantle off the armrest, Abe was struggling with the laces to secure it around his neck. He didn’t fumble, was never flustered, but looking at his phone for the millionth and one time with no new notifications, his nerves making his movements feel slow and sluggish in his usually nimble and capable hands. 

“Sit down,” Vikki ordered, applying gentle pressure to Abe’s upper back as she helped adjust the mantle on his broad shoulders, deftly lacing the harness to secure it in place. “I need to go get ready with the girls. Marshall,” Vikki looked over at the dark-haired man examining the blue and pink armor set aside for Edgar once he and Olivia had settled their business, “Would you like to join us at the convention center?”    


“Yeah that’d be awesome, thanks for letting me tag along. And uh,” Marshall looked at the now closed hotel room door from the corner of his eye, “You’ll protect me from Olivia? I know I’m still not totally on her good side, but she honestly terrifies me.” 

“Don’t worry,” Vikki smiled, “We’ll keep you safe, Marshmallow.” She giggled when he deadpanned at the nickname, mild annoyance on his face. She gave a reassuring squeeze to Abe’s upper arm, sensing the barely palpable but steadily rising edge beginning to tangle around their guild mother hen.

Abe eased somewhat, some of his anxiety dissipating when his highly intuitive friend released his arm and went back into the adjoining suite. He hadn’t told anyone why he was so (anxious, nauseous, excited?)  _ keen  _ about attending StormCon this year (exclusive digital expansion aside). Not only for all the convention exclusives and opportunities to watch the top WoW guilds in the world, but also to meet one of his favorite digital artists. They had corresponded over the past year, even occasionally going on dungeon runs together when he wasn’t with the  _ Rare Spawns.  _ But recently, they had been chatting more offline, mostly through texts and on the Dissonance server, bonding over a webcomic she was the lead artist on. When Abe mentioned he got last minute passes to StormCon, she asked to meet IRL. ‘ **3pm, don’t be late.** ’ They followed each other on Instaframe, exchanged pictures once, but had never actually spoken to each other. He took a deep, calming breath, placing his hand against his stomach as he slowly exhaled, trying to set his nerves aside. Not that he was nervous, telling himself it was perfectly normal to feel this way about meeting someone he greatly admired, who had beautiful gray eyes that reminded him of the early dawn, golden hair and a smile full of starshine. Oh yeah, he relented, unable to suppress the denial, he was all kinds of screwed. 

Abe got up from the couch, trying to shake off some of his nervous energy. Heading over to the kitchenette area, he grabbed a bottle of water and tossed one to Marshall. “It shouldn’t be too long before we head out, but until then, wanna play Marco Party?” Marshall replied with a, ‘Hells ya,” grabbing one of the Funtindo controllers while Abe booted up the Swatch.

After a few rounds, Dallas emerged in his xxNightkillerxx rouge outfit wanting to play Bash Bros instead of Marco Party, but was outvoted by Abe and Marshall. Edgar had also returned to the suite, apparently emerging victorious against the begrudged poker player Olivia intended to hunt down. Edgar seemed to teleport instantaneously, switching from his butler’s uniform to the blue and pink armor set aside from him. Abe received a text from Vikki stating they should be ready within 10 to 15 minutes, so they continued to play Marco Party until the girls came through the adjoining doorway. After making final checks on costumes, wallets, and protein bars, Abe looked up at the loft where Charles continued to sit, eyes fixated on the laptop screen. “You good up there, Charles? Anything you need?” 

Charles looked down at Abe, his attention temporarily pulled when he saw Sam’s guild preparing to leave for the convention center with plans for Marshall to take pictures of the group. “Thank you Abe, but I’m quite alright, you enjoy yourselves.” He gave a cordial nod to the departing group, masking his smile with the back of his hand when he saw Sam in her Ariadne costume, blue wig, floppy hat and all. Just before everyone had exited the suite, Sam looked up and smiled back at Charles, who found himself wanting to run down the steps for one more goodbye, one more kiss. Instead he settled for returning her smile with a smirk and wave meant just for her and her alone. 

Hearing the door close, Charles resumed his work at his temporary station. He hadn’t made too much headway regarding the annulment situation while Samara’s friends were getting ready for StormCon, so he changed gears and focused on some outstanding tasks with the current projects with YoungTech. Now that everyone had left, Charles quickly switched to the private browser displaying his Poogle search on procuring an annulment in Las Vegas, scrolling past assorted law firms promising quick and easy annulments, separations and divorces. Although time was an important factor, Charles wasn’t in so much of a rush to hire a less-than-reputable practice just to make their current problem disappear. As with most matters where Samara Young was concerned, Charles wanted to do the right and proper thing by her. 

Well, he quickly chided himself, he wasn’t exactly doing the right and proper thing, being involved with Samara given their current situation. It was a constant battle, an unrelenting tug and pull between continuing their arrangement as is, or ending it before things got serious. But they couldn’t continue as they were, could they? The paradigm had changed, the chessboard flipped, switching black and white with the game pieces flying about.  _ Married for Chrissakes.  _

Charles leaned back in his chair and set his glasses aside, pressing his palms against his eyes and releasing a string of curse words in frustration. Releasing a quick breath, he dove back into his search. There was no sense dwelling on what should or shouldn’t be done, only on what he can and must.

And clearly he couldn’t do anything, muttering an assortment of Welsh noises after getting off the phone with what was the 6th or 7th law firm regarding his case. The first firm was on a retreat in the desert. Second was on a year-long sabbatical. Firms three through five were involved in some sort of legal matter that put a hold to all future cases due to FBI involvement, the mafia, or jail. The sixth one’s wife went into labor, or was it the seventh? 

Charles decided to shelf the law firm search and looked up the contact information for the county marriage license bureau. He suddenly remembered, although faintly, how they’d stopped by the office before they had closed to procure the paperwork, the clerk commenting how they could’ve done it online and filed it the next day, but clearly they were in a rush. Charles dialed the number and selected the appropriate number prompts, practically sighing in relief when he was connected through and greeted by a Sophie Howell. “Ah yes, Ms. Sophie, I was calling to check on the status of a marriage license that may have been submitted recently.”

“I think I can help you with that, first and last names please of the wedding party?” Charles could hear the keyboard keys clicking in the background.

“Charles Jones and Samara Young.”

After several moments and keyboard clicks, Sophie had confirmed the marriage license was submitted this morning and was already verified. “Well that was pretty quick, but looks like the license went through and it’s official. Then again, Ms. Sulliman is one of our most efficient employees.” Sophie commented. “Is there anything else you need sir?”

“Ah yes, I was hoping to go through the process of getting the marriage annulled actually.” It was just his luck to have the most efficient government worker certifying their marriage.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but let’s see what we can do to get the process rolling, oh!” Charles heard loud static, shouts and crashing in the background. “Sir,” Sophie’s voice sounded disjointed and slurred, “I’m afraid I’ll have to hang up, there’s a fire in the server room and we have to evacuate the building!” Before Charles could even protest, Sophie hung up, leaving him to ponder the odds of the series of events that just occurred. 

It wouldn’t be until much later when Charles decided to take a break with some Netpix and FastEats, he would discover from a local news alert when he turned on the TV that a Cal Cifer, distraught after recently separating from his partner, Justin Markl, had sent a virus attacking the Clark County servers, specifically the ones containing data on marriage licenses. This virus not only corrupted the files, but caused the servers to overheat and catch fire. Emergency sprinklers stopped the fire, only to cause a water main to burst, damaging the backup paper files in the record room. 

Given everything that had occurred in the span of less than 24 hours, Charles thought about the sticky pink cash voucher that replaced the now missing ring from his first marriage. Out of habit, he traced the faint lines around his left ring finger. They were barely visible, but still carried the sting of failure and heartbreak, though marginally lessened as the days passed. After finishing his takeout and an interesting documentary on tofu, Charles grabbed his wallet, phone and keycard and decided to find the register where he could turn in the cash voucher. After all, there was no other place to test his string of bad luck but here in Las Vegas. 

When he reached his destination, Charles discovered it wasn’t so much a cash voucher, but a coupon for a set of free personalized t-shirts he and Sam ordered from last night. He turned in the coupon and received two XXL shirts. Charles was unable to hold back a laugh at the requested designs, one that said ‘Ninja Cat’ and the other, ‘Bunty’ on the front, with the words, ‘Worth the Trouble’ on the back. Before he put the shirts away in the plastic gift bag, he texted a picture of said shirts to Samara.

Sam had just purchased two minifig keychains of a dog who looked very similar to Bowser dressed in a dragon costume much like the one on the Welsh flag Charles showed her once. It wasn’t as if they exchanged gifts regularly, but there were times where flowers appeared on her desk or she found an extra cardigan hanging in Charles’ office just in case she was cold. Besides, Sam reasoned with herself, it was a small token to thank Charles for his patience despite the strange situation they found themselves in. Plus it was rare to find any depiction of Bowser, given his half-terrier, half-welsh corgi status and he was her dog to begin with. Although he seemed to enjoy spending more of his time with Charles whenever he came over, practically zooming off the walls on the rare occasions he spent the night. Hearing a text notification, she checked her phone and laughed at the picture of the oversized t-shirts with the caption,  **‘I guess we had these rush-ordered last night.’** Sam smiled, her heart warming when she read the next line,  **‘You’re still worth the trouble, Bunty.’**

“What are you grinning about, missy?” Angela wandered back to Sam after looking at a Valkyrie minifig (but really the lion placed next to it) keychain for the longest time.

“Oh, nothing,” Sam quickly closed her message app. “Just something funny Charles sent me.” 

“I guess he’s not so bad.” Angela thought back to the Saturday they had spent in the escape room with Charles and Sam, although most of it was spent trying not to kill Dallas. Charles had done a decent enough job to make sure the room was intact without bloodshed or broken parts. “You guys have been spending a lot of time together though.”

“Just for work.” Sam eyed a vendor booth piled with PillowFriends, large soft plushies perfect for snuggles or back support. Her eye was caught on a penguin pair not too dissimilar to the purple guy she’d won for Charles last night.

“Riiiiight,” she replied skeptically, “Working so late that you’ve missed a couple Friday night raids.” Sam looked away from Angela, a telltale blush spread across her face, a stark contrast against her blue hair. “You know you can tell me anything right?” She bit her tongue, wasn’t she doing the same thing keeping Link a secret from her two best friends? She told herself she would tell Sam when she was ready, so why was she holding back? 

As much as she hated to admit it, she was afraid that this newfound happiness would disappear, carriages into pumpkins at the stroke of midnight, the moment she spoke it aloud, into existence. Link had been so patient and forgiving, taking things slow and at the pace she was comfortable with. Maybe a little too slow, feeling mildly irritated after their last date, how much she craved to feel those calloused hands against her not unlike when they sparred at the gym, to be pinned and subdued; only to feel irritated and unsatisfied with a chaste kiss goodnight. But was  _ she  _ ready? Angela remembered the times when she’d lashed out at Link regarding his clumsy attempts to date Sam, when really she was mad at herself for being vulnerable. How could she be sure she wouldn’t strike out again in misdirected anger? 

“Angela? Are you okay?” Sam tugged on her friend’s cape before she ran into a fellow dressed in pink with large feathery wings, getting poked by a prop arrow. 

She snapped out of her thoughts, turning her attention back to Sam only to be interrupted by a text notification vibrating in the side pocket sewed into her armored skirt. “Sorry, Sam, I didn’t mean to space out on you,” Angela gave a half grin. “Let’s go check out the booth where Abe’s at.” 

They walked over to the vendor booth where Abe was conversing with a blonde-haired woman with a vendor badge around her neck. “Hey Daddy, who you talking to?” Angela teased, caught off-guard when Abe stumbled, glancing up at Angela with something almost akin to nervousness in his eyes.  _ Well, well, well, _ she thought mischievously, this was indeed a rare event. If Abe had an HP bar, it would’ve read,  **Status: Bewilderment! Unable to cast spells or attack until next turn!** Angela was the tank after all, she might as well throw him a save. “Kidding,” Angela laughed amicably, “Abe’s the protective papa bear of our group.”

“Oh you must be from the Rare Spawns,” the blonde-haired woman replied, pushing back her round-rimmed glasses. “Abe’s told me about all of you, I’m Marie.” 

“She’s gonna help me with my costume for the contest.” Abe shifted his weight, sensing a drop of sweat trickling down his nape.

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed. “You mentioned you’d be meeting a friend who’s an artist.” She glanced at the booth and Marie’s vendor badge. “Oh my god! I follow your comic on NetToons, your art is amazing!” 

As Sam went off into fangirl mode, Angela took the opportunity to quickly check her phone, her heart skipping a beat or two seeing Link’s message.  **‘Hey Angel, hope you’re having a good time at StormCon and Dallas isn’t being more of a pain in the ass than usual.’** Unfortunately, Link couldn’t come with them to StormCon, having picked up an extra EMS shift. Sometimes it annoyed her how noble he was, taking on a majority of the household responsibilities when his dad passed away while Dallas dicked about. But it was one of the things she loved about his lionheart. Angela froze at the realization, trying to ignore it by sending a group pic of the  _ Rare Spawns  _ in front of the convention center. She tried to suppress the instant glee she felt when Link replied immediately.  **‘You look incredible! I really wish I was there with you.’**

**‘Just wait until you see what I’m wearing tonight.’** Angela added a winky-face emoji.

**‘For the contest?’**

She grinned, texting right away.  **‘After.’** Angela included several kiss emojis to which Link replied with a wide-eyed flushed one.  **‘FaceTime me when you’re done with your shift.’** She’d have to leave the masquerade a little early, but it’d be worth it to see Link’s reaction to what she was wearing to their private afterparty. Unfortunately she was unable to see Link’s response when Dallas snuck up from behind, throwing his arm around her shoulder.

“Why are you texting Captain Lamezone, who was too  _ lame  _ to come with us to Vegas ‘cause of his  _ lame  _ job,” Dallas leaned over, seeing his brother’s name on her notification screen, “When you got the better Hudson with you? A  _ real  _ man right here to show you a better time than that soft doofus.” 

Angela immediately grabbed Dallas’ arm and twisted it behind his back, causing him to stagger forward and wince in pain. “I  _ am  _ with the better Hudson, and he sends his regards. And he knows how to show me a good time, just fine.”

Everyone’s heads snapped towards her the moment the words slipped past. “Angela,” Sam inquired, “Are you and Link dating?” 

_ Cat’s out of the bag, _ Angela looked at Sam, feeling traces of guilt sink through, but surprised to see the almost ecstatic look on her friend’s face. “Y-yes,” she admitted, finding it now it was her turn to blush. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner but, it’s still new and, ah...”

“No, that’s good to hear, I’m happy for you both!” Sam gave a reassuring smile. “I want details, when did he ask you out?”

Angela breathed a sigh of relief. Although nothing had happened between Sam and Link, she still felt twinges of guilt for going after a man her friend was interested in, albeit briefly. Uteruses before Duderuses after all, GirlCode still in effect. “I asked him, actually-” 

But before Angela could go into more detail, Dallas broke out of her armhold, muttering angrily. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re seriously going out with that blowhard? What a joke, the Beast and the Brainless,” he taunted, expression dark, lips upturned into a sneer. 

He tightly gripped the small gift bag containing a Valkyrie minifig keychain he saw Angela admiring earlier, nails tearing into the paper.

Abe stepped forward, putting some distance between Dallas and the girls. “Dallas, that’s enough.” He crossed his impressive forearms. “Either cool off or walk away. You shouldn’t be talking about your teammate or your brother that way. You know better.”

“What the fuck do you know, you’re not my mom or my dad...And  _ he’s  _ been gone a long time.”  _ 3 years, 10 months, 5 days.  _ Dallas countered, arching his shoulders back in an attempt to stand off against Abe despite being clearly outclassed in height, strength and musculature. “So back,” He tapped his forefinger against Abe’s chest, striking only pure muscle, emphasized with each word. “The. Fuck. Off.”

Abe grabbed Dallas’ hand in a tight fist, pulling him into an almost brotherly bear hug/neck hold combo, immobilizing the feisty kid despite his attempts to break free. “You know,” he plucked Dallas away from the group, carrying him as if he were nothing more than football needing to be carried towards the end zone, “I’ve been wanting to check out the ChatBug Cafe, I hear the peanut butter squares are amazing. And we could use some fresh air.” He tilted his head back towards Marie, “Sorry, I’ll be back in a few.”

“How about you text me when you’re done and I’ll meet you back at your room to help you get ready?” Abe could only nod in reply, tightening his hold on Dallas while Marie waved goodbye.

They had just made it towards the hall entrance when Abe set Dallas down, his hand still firmly set on his shoulder. “Now are you done with your edgelord nonsense?” Abe was very familiar with these tactics from his students, the ones who lashed out in anger were often the ones who longed for some semblance of kindness. “What’s really bothering you?”

Dallas shrugged off Abe’s hand. “Why do you care, you’re just doing this so you’ll feel all high and mighty and impress the girls, being the better man. They’ll be swooning over how you protected them from me, especially that Marie chick.  _ I’ll meet you back at your room _ .” He mocked her, imitating her voice. 

“You know that’s not true.” Abe rested his hand against Dallas’ shoulder, who despite flinching at the contact, didn’t shrug him off immediately. “Angela and Sam are perfectly capable of protecting themselves from you.” He chuckled at the flat expression on Dallas’ face. “Angela could kick you into next Tuesday without sparing a thought. Now,” his voice took on a softer tone, engaged in teacher mode, “What’s going on?”

Dallas looked askance, shifting his weight from the balls of his feet and still tightly gripping the gift bag. They stood for several moments in silence before Dallas muttered, “Everyone’s got somebody they care about but me. Link didn’t even tell me he was seeing Angela and he’s supposed to be my brother, not my dad telling me what to do. And it’s coming up, the day he,” his voice caught, unable to say the words.

“The day he went and left you and your family behind.” Abe was all too familiar with that pain. “I told you, I care about you, but you gotta let people in if you want them to know you. Not be an asshat like you were earlier to the girls.” 

“Negative attention is still attention.” Dallas countered, refusing to look at Abe. “At least they notice when I do.”

“But positive attention lasts longer and attracts more than disdain or contempt.” Abe looked at the paper bag Dallas was holding onto. “Anything important? You look like you’re about to rip it in two.”

Dallas shoved the gift bag into his pockets. “No nothing. Just being stupid.” He chose to stare at the ugly carpet pattern of the convention center, wondering if he stared long and hard enough, he could burn it to pieces. “Were you serious about the ChatBug Café?”

“I was, love that little dude.” Abe answered thinking about the dimensional-hopping character from Adventurous Warriors. “And peanut butter squares sound pretty good right now.”   


“Yeah,” Dallas relented, “They do sound good.” He started walking towards Hall C where the café was located. “You coming?” He glanced back at Abe, who followed after him.

When they approached the ChatBug Café, decorated with large plush animals and staff dressed as the character ChatBug, they saw Edgar and Olivia sitting at a table, clad in matching blues and pink as Edgar and Lily-chan blending in with their brightly colored surroundings, the café design modeled after the space station headquarters in Adventurous Warriors.  **“What are you doing here, asshat?”** Oliva spoke through her text-to-talk function on her phone. 

“Seriously?” Dallas sneered, “We just wanted to check out the café.”

**“You like Chatbug? Scoff.”** Olivia rolled her eyes.

“Did you really type out ‘scoff?’” Dallas could feel the edge rising, but relented when he heard Abe’s footsteps following behind. “I think he’s cool. Being able to hop away to different dimensions when you wanna get away.”

**“He sucks butt at it though.”**

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it hilarious.” Dallas did have a soft spot for ChatBug, resisting the urge to hug a giant squishable version of the kitty-bug hybrid.

Olivia relented, nodding at Edgar who presented Dallas with a peanut butter square on a napkin.  **‘It’s way too sweet for me.’** She stood up with Edgar closely following.  **‘You guys can sit here. I need to do something about a WoW player needing some sense knocked into him.’**

Dallas eyed the pair curiously before sitting down in the chair offered by Edgar. “Sure, Thanks.” He spat out the words quickly before shoveling down the peanut butter square just as they departed. It was good, but super sticky, needing something to wash it down. Abe suddenly appeared with several apple juice boxes, handing them to Dallas. “No big ol’ beers?” He said, his mouth sticky with peanut butter.

“You’re still underage and know better while I’m around.” Abe sat, sipping from his juice box. A waiter dressed with kitty ears and paws dropped off two ChatBug-themed parfaits. 

Dallas mumbled his thanks, he really did want to try one of the parfaits, but thought it was too girly to order on his own. He silently enjoyed his parfait, although instinctually wanted to chuck it when he saw Vikki and Marshall Law approaching, and not be labeled as a softboi (which in his eyes was worse than edgelord). 

“Oh man, you got ChatBug parfaits?” Marshall nearly squealed with excitement as he sat in the chair next to Abe, “They really got the little guy’s details just right.” He snapped a quick photo of the desserts.

“You can have mine if you’d like,” Abe offered, checking his watch, “I need to head back to the room and get ready for the contest.” 

“Seriously, how long is it going to take? We still got like 3 hours.” Dallas was almost regretful for his snide comment, remembering why Abe wanted to go back in the first place. “I mean, that’s cool, see you later. Say hi to Marie.” He added quietly, piquing both Marshall’s and Vikki’s interest.

“So what’s your all-time ChatBug moment?” Marshall hid his face behind his hand, almost conspiratorially, “And who’s Marie?”

Dallas glanced up at Abe who quickly stood, hoping to escape the inquiring looks of his friends and refusing to make eye contact. “Just a girl Abe’s interested in,” Dallas grinned as Abe shrugged and walked away while Vikki asked for details. Abe in turn waved goodbye, ignoring his friends’ questions. He’d let Dallas have that one, texting the suite number to Marie, letting her know he was on his way. Besides the real surprise would come much later at the contest.   


Sam and Angela also had decided to head back to the hotel suite, catching one of several hotel shuttles to and from the convention center. Olivia had texted she would meet them at Hall D where the contest would be held. Apparently, her business with a WoW player she was feuding with was taking longer than she anticipated. Sam had wanted to take a quick nap and Angela had retreated to her room to finish putting together the final pieces for her contest cosplay, three-foot fully expandable angel wings to complement her Valkyrie outfit. Before she could lie down, however, Sam decided to stop by and see Charles in the guys’ suite, unable to hide the mischievous grin when she heard feminine laughter from what she assumed was Abe’s room, the door left ajar. “I promise, you’re gonna look fabulous, Abe.”

“My life’s in your hands,” Sam heard the husky reply as she quietly snuck up the loft stairs and saw Charles dozing on the bed, resting his head on the giant purple penguin. He had forgotten to take off his glasses, surrounded by manila folders and his work laptop on sleep mode. Resisting the urge to crawl into bed with him, Sam removed his glasses, placing them on the bedside table. She brushed away the blonde strands covering his forehead and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his brow, her hand against his cheek.

“Mmm, Bunty?” Charles murmured sleepily, eyes fluttering open, surprised to see a blue-haired mage when his vision focused. “Hello, Ariadne.” He smiled, wrapping his hand around the one pressed against his cheek and brought it to his lips, gently kissing the fingertips. “I take it your questing went well?” He asked quietly.

“Smashing success.” Sam whispered in reply, hoping not to catch Abe and Marie’s attention below. She kneeled on the edge of the bed while Charles sat upright and shifted closer to her while she explained the successful acquisition of the StormCon exclusive digital expansion pack, showing pictures she had taken at the convention center. “How about you?"   


“Aside from the shirts I sent you,” Charles stretched, yawning sleepily, “I’m afraid, I’ve made no headway with our current  _ situation _ .” Sam’s eyes widened when Charles explained the fiasco between the law firms and courthouse fire and flooding. “It might be a sign to put a pin in it for now.” Charles admitted defeat. “Although when I was able to get a hold of the county clerk’s office again, they mentioned we could have up to six months to file the annulment papers, so there is some time. We may be able to proceed when we come back to meet with Essential Cross,” mentioning another client they were scheduled to meet with in a few weeks from one of YoungTech’s ongoing projects. 

Sam nodded, unable to stop her traitorous mind from considering the implications of being married to Charles for possibly six months. “I see you’ve taken a liking to Pengu,” she gestured to the makeshift penguin pillow.

“Is that what we’re calling this chap?” 

‘Well that is his trademark name.” 

“Then Pengu it is. And he does make an excellent pillow,” Charles slid his arms around Sam’s waist, pulling her onto his lap. “But I think I’d preferred if you were lying next to me. What time’s the contest?” He whispered, his lips pressed against her neck.

“In a few hours,” Sam closed her eyes, contentedly humming as Charles moved lower, lips resting against her shoulder. “But as much as I would love to stay,” she turned to place her hand on his chest, regrettably prying his lips away, “We’re not alone.”

Upon hearing raucous laughter, Charles raised an eyebrow quizzically. “It’s Abe and his friend Marie, she’s actually a favorite artist of mine, but I guess she and Abe have been talking to each other for a while.” Sam explained. “They probably forgot you’re up here.” 

Curiosity getting the better of both of them, they silently crept over to the stairs and heard more of Abe’s and Marie’s conversation below. They both stood stockstill when Marie mentioned the stage make-up she was using was sweatproof, waterproof and would not budge under the spotlights in Hall D, and Abe suggested they should test it, not wanting to ruin all her hard work. Sam and Charles both brightly turned red when an unmistakable moan escaped Abe’s room. “But we haven’t even applied the prosthetics yet!” Marie called out.

Taking it as their cue to leave, Charles grabbed his laptop and phone. “I really hope they close the door soon. Did they really forget I'm up here?"

“Your sneaky cat-skills are legendary, you'd give ninjas a run for their money.” Sam whispered back, “Plus they can't take too long, everyone's coming back to get ready soon.”

"I think you underestimate how much two people can get done in much less time than that." Charles quietly headed towards the stairs.

"Is that so?" Sam murmured behind him. 

"Well there was that one time in your office before your father finished his teleconference with Gallifreyan Ventures.”

"And you knew he was going to stop by my desk afterwards, there were ten minutes left in that call,” 

"Ten minutes is all I need." Charles smirked as they made it halfway down the steps.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Do you need a reminder, Bunty?" He turned to face her at the foot of the stairs.

Sam grinned in reply. “Another time, if you’re up to the task. We’re supposed to be escaping, remember?” They nearly jumped at the slamming of a door and loud screaming. 

"I think she might give you a run for your money, the soundproofing in these hotels are quite excellent." Charles teased while Sam gave his shoulders a push towards the adjoining suite doors.

“Ha-hah,” She replied dryly. “You can hang in the living room until everyone gets back.”

“So fifteen minutes?” Charles was shoved through the suite doors as Sam quietly closed them behind her. 

After her nap (Alone, she had emphasized to Charles, who seemed to enjoy almost being caught as much as she did, settling for a few stolen kisses before Angela exited her room to set up her wing harness and surprisingly accepting Charles’ help in the sitting area), Sam proceeded to get ready, applying some of the more advanced makeup techniques Monica had taught her, glittering purple and gold framing her dark brown eyes and dark lips painted in an almost perfect pout. She wasn’t ready to put on her mage’s costume, not while Charles was in the other room. He said he’d be in the audience and she truly wanted it to be a surprise. She did her best to suppress the rush she’d felt knowing how those peerless eyes would be on her, just her. Sometimes, it scared and thrilled her how he’d look at her as if she were the only one, could be the only one who mattered most to him. 

Then the rules, the godforsaken rules flashed through her mind, all too painfully aware of the invisible line between them. Despite the time they had spent together, she only knew what he allowed himself to show, learning about each other in all ways except his unapproachable heart. She saw glimpses, cracks in the armor, how much he held back from her, how much she wished he would be honest about what he wanted for himself, for her.  _ ‘For us.’ _ Sam contemplated.  _ ‘Could there really be an ‘Us’.’ _ She looked down at her currently ringless hand, remembering the bright sapphire from earlier that morning. Clearly her subconscious wanted more than their current arrangement, practically hog-tying Reason, and eloping with Desire. Maybe it could only be pretend for now. And maybe nothing good could come out of it, being with a self-professed highly rational and emotionally unavailable man. But still, she hoped that maybe, just maybe, once everything was untangled and laid before them, they could be…

Sam was immediately roused from her thoughts at the sound of knocking at her door. Hearing Vikki on the other side, she opened the door to see her friend, skin darkened with stage makeup, a strip of gauze across her eyes, wolfen ears on her head and furry claws on her fingertips, as close to her WoW avatar as she could get. 

“I sent Marshall and Charles away to the convention center.” Vikki leaned against the doorway. “Didn’t want to spoil the final reveal, especially with Abe, he looks fantastic.” Vikki looked at the costume on Sam’s bed. “Do you need help getting ready?”

“I’m just about finished.” Sam began changing into what she considered was the sexier version of her mage’s outfit, accepting Vikki’s help pulling on her thigh-high stockings. Clipping the mantle around her shoulders, Sam did a small twirl in front of the mirror, watching the nearly see-through gossamer skirt fall in gentle waves.

“You look stunning, Sam,” Vikki clapped excitedly as Sam took a quick bow, “I’m sure Charles will love it.” Sam almost lost her balance, eyes widening in alarm. “He kept looking back at your room, hoping you’d come out before he and Marshall left. It wasn’t subtle.” Vikki straightened the folds of Sam’s cape and gown, handing her the mage’s staff leaning against the closet. “Your secret’s safe with me, promise. And whenever you’re ready, I’m here to support you.”

It almost came as a relief to Sam that Vikki had figured it out without her breaking the rules. Despite the secrecy, Charles valued Sam’s honesty and she found it incredibly difficult to lie to him. “Thank you Vikki,” She whispered and squeezed Vikki’s paw, comforted by the simple gesture. Sam waited a beat, quickly looking outside to see Angela on the phone, a blush on her cheeks as she spoke in hushed tones. “So...Angela and Link?”

Vikki giggled. “I know, subtle as bricks, those two.” She teased while she and Sam entered the living room to help Angela transport her wings to the convention center.

At the convention center, Charles and Marshall sat beside each other, waiting for the cosplay contest to begin. “Any luck today?” Marshall started awkwardly, dancing around the topic while trying to make small talk.

“No,” Charles confessed, noticing the lights starting to dim. “It seems like the universe is plotting against me, thwarting me at every turn.” He gave Ben a condensed version of the earlier events between the law firms, fire and subsequent flooding at the courthouse.

Marshall whistled, “I dunno man, maybe you should take it as a sign the universe wants you to be together.” He joked, but was surprised at the seriousness of Charles’ demeanor as the Welshman stared intently at the empty stage. But before Marshall could speak further, the auditorium was cast into darkness with a single light shining on Dean and Collin, of all people, appearing on stage in matching glittering jackets.

“Good Evening, ladies and gentlemen! Who’s ready to see some amazing cosplay?” His charismatic friend asked the crowd while Collin stood behind, expressionless as he held sparkly pom-poms. Marshall laughed, curious how Collin got roped into going onstage with Dean. “I’m Dean San Martin, and together with my friend, Collin Kaiser, we’ll be your hosts this evening, so let’s get started!”

Marshall was impressed with the immensely talented cosplayers walking down the makeshift runway while Dean commented on their intricacy and intense detail. He cheered loudly when one cosplayer, a lava demon from  _ Hellscape _ , appeared to breathe smoke and looked as if he were made of lava with molten veins alight against his body. Dean then announced the group competition category, both Marshall and Charles sitting at attention awaiting for Sam’s guild to appear. It wasn’t until several guilds later Dean finally announced, “And presenting the  _ Rare Spawns _ hailing from Santa Monica, California!” Marshall whooped as Edgar and Dallas emerged from opposite ends of the stage, Dallas kiting and skulking, flexing his muscles while Edgar walked over to the other end of the stage with perfect posture. His jaw dropped, when he saw Abe as Yemoja, striding down the stage complete with prosthetic elven ears, skin dotted with leopard spots with fake breasts and a face full of expertly applied makeup even Monica would be envious of. He wolf-whistled at Abe who blew a kiss to a now screaming crowd.

“I guess Marie did an impeccable job.” Charles observed bemusedly at the crowd’s reaction to Abe, surprised how the woman of the hour had managed to convince the fellow to shave his beard let alone wear heels, makeup, breasts and a breechcloth revealing enviable and well-defined dark chocolate-brown thighs.

His attention was immediately pulled away when Dean announced, “And let’s not forget the ladies of the  _ Rare Spawns _ !” Olivia and Angela appeared onstage. Olivia walked out first, waving to the crowd and throwing peace signs as she stood next to Edgar. Angela thrust her spear into the air as her white wings fully expanded, revealing a three-foot wingspan. Then, at last, Vikki in her monk outfit stood next to Sam in a very different costume compared to the one Charles saw earlier. 

Charles was transfixed as Sam and Vikki walked down the stage, hand-in-hand. [Sam](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1IdDaSXcsk7qeso19iHtAAXqcDaeMmE8F/view?usp=sharing) wore a dark purple one-piece with long bell sleeves, high collar and a purposefully tattered cape that ruthlessly showcased her hourglass figure, slender legs and ample breasts barely contained by a fitted bodice glittered with red rhinestones. Panels of translucent gossamer flowed around her, barely concealing the bare skin revealed by the high slits of her skirt and the thigh-high garter stockings attached to her bodice. How he ached to touch her, to leave his mark against her pale skin, knowing exactly how she would tremble, nearly coming undone while raking his tongue along her inner thighs, nipping the sensitive skin across her collarbone, his lips against her ear, in the places only he was privy to. If only to show the world she was  _ his. _ But Charles wasn’t the only one who had eyes on Sam. 

Marshall too had found himself unable to look away, the spotlight on Sam, as if casting her in a new light he had never considered until this moment. She was his friend. She was, for better or worse, with Charles. And she was unmistakably beautiful. Vibrant, shining and practically floating down the runway as she and Vikki stood with the rest of their guild. A growing, uncomfortable realization began to rise, barely able to hear Dean’s voice above the din of the crowd, when his friend asked the judging panel if they had a winner for the ‘ **Best of Guild** ’ group category. Out of the corner of his eye, Marshall could see Charles with eyes only for Sam, before returning his gaze to the aforementioned blue-haired mage, her eyes searching for Charles while feeling an unmistakable double-skipped beat of his taco heart.

“...oh fuck.” 

\---

_ It started with a whisper _

_ And that was when I kissed her _

_ Everybody talks, everybody talks back _

_ \--- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, aren't our players in a pickle? Again, sorry for the wait, and thanks for reading!


	4. S.O.S.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The secret's out! Someone's spilled the stir-fry and the bunty's out of the bag. What will happen to our heroes forced to deal with the repercussions of their misadventures in Sin City? Stay tuned for this episode on 'Invisible String!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never-ending thanks to my beta/soul sister/twinny/Eagle to my Bambi Gallifreya [She deserves all the love and adoration in the multiverse] Also MATURE WARNINGS for steaminess, enjoy!

Chapter 4: S.O.S.

\---

_Can you hear me? S.O.S._

_Help me put my mind to rest_

\---

“Earth to Marshall?” 

The raven-haired man dazedly looked at the girl sitting beside him, acutely and painfully aware of her presence. It was as if someone replaced his eyes with shoujo-anime ones where everything seemed to glitter and twinkle around him. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Sam leaned close, eying him curiously. She had come over for Bash Bros, boba and Chinese takeout as promised when they had gotten back from StormCon. It had been a couple days since they returned from Las Vegas, but tonight was the first night both Sam and Marshall were free to hang out. 

He thought by now, after some time apart, things would’ve calmed down. It was a trick of the light, the magic of Vegas, what happens at the convention stays at the convention. But no, the image of Ariadne was still firmly planted in his mind, his drawings, his dreams. 

And here she was kicking his ass in Bash Bros, their shoulders nearly touching. Before, Sam was averse to close proximal contact, doing her best to maintain her personal space. As they spent more time together, playing video games, collaborating on Evermake, and the occasional Studio Jiburi marathon, Sam seemed more comfortable around him. The last time Marshall hugged her (he was a huggable guy), they had just won a Trivia Night event hosted on Dean’s Glitch stream, she didn’t even flinch and actually hugged him back. But now it seemed their roles were reversed as he tried to maintain his distance while avoiding her probing eyes. 

“You weren’t even trying to beat me this time, are you getting sick?” Marshall must have been, seeing little floating hearts and stars forming a halo around Sam’s head, her brown eyes warm and bright. She rested her palm against Marshall’s brow and he immediately flushed at the brief contact. “Is it post-con bug? You’re practically burning up.”

“You might be right, I haven’t been at a hundo p since we got back,” Marshall was certainly burning up for other reasons, trying not to think about the softness of her hands, her gentle touch and how her hair smelled of strawberries. “Maybe you should go home, I don’t want you to get sick.” He wrapped a nearby throw around his shoulders for emphasized effect, bringing the leftover takeout to put away in the fridge. “I’ll probably go to bed real soon.”

“Really?” Sam asked from the couch. “Are you sure? I can make you some of my mom’s chicken noodle soup.”

As tempting as it was (it was amazing soup), it was probably best she headed home while he dunked his head in a cold shower. “It’s okay, I have the leftover takeout, I’ll send you the new concept art for Evermake later, okay?” That seemed to distract her as she grabbed her phone and house keys.

In the months they had gotten to know each other, Marshall hadn’t thought of Sam in...that way. Even after he and Monica decided to take a break, he considered Sam as a friend, a buddy, a little sister that needed looking after. A little sister who understood his moods, forgave him for his shortcomings, and helped him with his long-held dream of becoming a game designer and illustrator, a risk he never had the courage to pursue. Maybe it was a gradual progression, an accumulation of something he chose to not acknowledge, skimming beneath the surface; but after that weekend in Vegas, it was as if someone flipped a switch and his gaming buddy was no longer _just_ a buddy. 

Not to mention the timing of it was horrible. Sam was in this weird limbo with Charles, apparently unable to file for an annulment due to the courthouse being flooded and set on fire, destroying the county servers (apparently the maintenance was going to take weeks to resolve and retrieve the missing data or something along those lines). So she was technically still a married woman. The whole situation was a comedy of errors that he seemed to be trapped in the middle of like a rom-com movie or a romance comic. But clearly that was all in his head. Right? 

“Okay,” Sam relented, looking concerned. “But if you need anything, I’m just a text away.” She quickly stood when suddenly, a wave of nausea flooded her system, also feeling faint and lightheaded. 

Marshall turned to see Sam, pale with her arm propped against the back of the couch for support. “Sam?” His internal panic seemed to melt away as he rushed over to her side. “What’s wrong?” Which returned tenfold when Sam puked, bits of noodles and stir-fry landing on his socked-feet.

\---

Charles arrived at Samara’s and Ben’s apartment complex. Parking the car, he headed towards the stairs, debating whether to call and let Ben know of his arrival.

He was on his way home after his fencing lessons when he got a phone call from Ben, urging him to get Samara immediately, and possibly making an illegal u-turn upon hearing the panic steeped in his voice. He found himself mildly irritated at the younger man when Ben explained how Samara had come over for dinner and was now violently throwing up in the bathroom. The irritation went up a click when he asked Ben more details about Samara’s condition only to be told, **“I don’t know, I’m a sympathetic puker and I’m having a hard time cleaning the carpet, the couch,”** Ben had paused, “ **How did she get it in** **_there_ ** **?”** Charles could hear gagging noises and shuffling sounds in the background. **“Anyways, get over here and take care of your wife before I start hurling with her!”**

Charles bit his inner lip, contemplating the source of his rising irritation while taking the stairs two steps at a time. Was it Ben calling him to drive across town and take care of Samara, Ben having dinner with Samara, or at himself for rushing over at the words, “ **Sam needs you** ,” without giving it a second thought? Charles discovered he was becoming less reluctant to keep his distance, giving into whatever feeble-minded excuses he could come up with, unable to ignore the almost instinctual protective urge he felt whenever it came to Samara Young. 

To be perfectly honest, he had been irritated since he left for his fencing lessons when she mentioned she would be having dinner at Ben’s that evening. Just because he chose not to seek female companionship elsewhere, didn’t mean it applied to Samara. She was free to choose whoever she wanted to spend her time with, family, friends, _male_ friends. They weren’t seeing each other, he wasn’t her boyfriend, mentally dismissing the thought, only to be immediately replaced with, ‘ _But you are her_ **_husband_ ** _.’_

He reached the top of the stairs and gritted his teeth over his traitorous thoughts. He needed to call the Clark County Marriage Bureau to check their progress on system restoration so he could file the annulment paperwork. He needed to make the world rightside up again. He was acting like a complete barney, a jealous idiot. He stalled at that thought, him. Jealous. Of Ben. Charles saw the way he had looked at her after the cosplay contest (which her guild won with top marks). He recognized it just as he recognized it within himself, like seeing a precious jewel shining in the light for the first time. 

Charles once told Samara she should spend her time with someone who would treasure her, not a cold, distant man like him. And as far as he knew, Ben wasn’t currently seeing anyone. And as much as he hated to admit it, Ben was a decent man with a genuinely good (if anatomically faulty) heart. He and Samara were probably better suited for each other given their mutual interests and other compatibilities. Ben certainly outpaced him when it came to knowledge about World of Warquest, video games and game design in comparison. 

But the thought of letting Samara go, to anyone, as Charles reached Ben’s apartment, gripped painfully around his chest. He knocked loudly on the front door. The feeling eased somewhat when the door opened and he saw Ben, pale yet somehow green, holding a towel to his face. “She’s in the bathroom,” his voice muffled, pointing down the hallway. Charles moved past Ben in the direction of loud coughing and a flushing toilet. 

Charles quickly found Samara, also pale and green with a light sheen of sweat coating her forehead, resting against the toilet seat. “C-Charles?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “What are you doing here, you have less-” But before she could say another word, Sam felt another wave of nausea and braced herself against the toilet, unsure if she had anything left in her to throw up. 

“Bad takeout, Bunty?” Charles had grabbed a nearby hand towel and soaked it with cold water. He kneeled beside Samara and pressed the cool cloth to her brow, her mouth. 

“Not sure,” Sam confessed while Charles instructed Marshall, who was keeping his distance, to get him a plastic bag. She had felt fine all evening up until Marshall mentioned he wasn’t feeling well, and when she stood up from the couch. Maybe she was the one with post-con bug, or maybe it _was_ the takeout. “I’ll be okay, I just need to go lie down, I think it’s passing.” Sam sat up and tried to stand, but remained kneeling next to the toilet as more nausea rocked through her. 

“Let’s get you home,” Charles pulled her into his arms, Samara unable to protest when he gently lifted her up, careful not to make her woozy with sudden movements, “Before I have a second patient to deal with.” Charles deadpanned at the plastic bag being offered at the end of a broomstick held aloft by Ben.

Sam gingerly reached for the plastic bag, not wanting to throw up on Charles. She was already so embarrassed, vomiting all over Marshall’s living room, clinging to his toilet for dear life, only for Charles to show up and see her like this. Granted he knew about her overall health history and was well-prepared for situations like these, a job requirement from her father. But Sam didn’t want Charles to see this side of her, feeble and weak. Despite her fear and worry, Sam felt safe and comforted in his arms. She held the plastic bag near her face, doing her best to keep up with the deep breathing techniques Jay-Jay had taught and frequently reminded her to do. 

Marshall grabbed Sam’s phone and keys, walking ahead of Charles and exiting his apartment. He walked over to Sam’s and quickly unlocked the door, ignoring the side-eye from Bowser when he stepped through the door. They were currently on a ‘barely tolerable’ level in terms of friendship, but miles away from when they first met. “I know, I know puppy, but your mama’s sick, so I’m just trying to help her okay?” 

Bowser’s features switched to worry when he saw Charles carrying Sam into the apartment. Instead of bounding towards his fellow Welshman like usual, he stayed next to Marshall if only momentarily, trotting cautiously to Sam’s bedroom. He hung by the entryway as Charles laid Sam on the bed and pulled off her shoes, setting them by the foot of the bed. Charles then turned and saw him waiting by the door. 

Charles kneeled down, hand outstretched per their customary shake before scratching Bowser behind the ears. “Sorry chap,” he apologize, “Your mam’s not feeling great, but I know she’ll be better soon with you watching her.” He and Bowser walked out back to the living room where Marshall stood. 

“Thanks for getting her.” Marshall gave a halfhearted smile. “I don’t do so good around sick people.”

“‘Sympathetic puker’ were your exact words.”

“Can you blame me? We’d be in worse trouble if she stayed over, between the two of us. Plus,” Marshall raised his eyebrow conspiratorially, “I’m sure you would’ve hated it if she did.” He internally crowed at the brightness on Charles’ pale cheeks. “If you couldn’t come, I would’ve called one of her friends to help out, but since you’re here, I’m gonna head out and try to get the smell of vomit out of my carpet.” Marshall turned queasy at the thought, pretty sure he still had some candles from Monica to help while he was cleaning. 

“Marshall,” Charles said stiltedly, causing Marshall to pause, unsure if this was the first time the Brit called him by his new alias. “Thank you for getting me. And taking care of Samara. You’re a good friend.” 

Marshall grinned and gave a mock salute, “Only the best for our girl.” And for the first time since Vegas, he genuinely felt that way. He left Sam’s apartment, closing the door behind him. Taking a deep cleansing breath, Marshall headed back to his place, feeling as if his brain was in a fog and the haze finally cleared. 

Entering his apartment, Marshall could hear his phone ringing. He quickly locked the door behind him and picked up the phone, immediately brightening upon hearing Monica’s voice. “Hey Kitten, remind me when you’re coming home from San Francisco again? I have so much to tell you.”

\---

Sam opened her eyes, the outline of a familiar towhead approaching her. She looked across and saw her glasses on the nightstand, Charles must have taken them off. He sat on the edge of her bed with a glass of water, saltines and a bottle of Powergator. She took the glass of water and drank in small sips, if only to wash the sour taste off her tongue. When Charles offered her a saltine, she looked at him hesitantly.

“It’ll help settle your stomach, just a couple bites.” 

Sam did as he asked, nibbling at the cracker followed with a few more sips of water. She did feel better, but didn’t want to press her luck. She was totally wiped and ready for bed, reluctant to move. “Bowser,” she remembered, glancing around for her puppy.

“I’ll take him outside, but I wanted to check and see how you were feeling first.” Affection overtook the lingering nausea Sam felt when Charles offered to take Bowser on his evening walk as she was clearly in no state to.

“I’m s-sorry Charles,” Sam apologized, “You must be exhausted after your fencing lessons. I should’ve told Marshall not to call you.”  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you Samara,” Charles set the glass, saltines and strawberry-mango Powergator on the bedside table before resting his hand along the side of her face, the pad of his thumb brushing against her cheek, “You are worth the trouble.” 

Sam gave him a half-smile, placing her hand on top of his. “I like to hear you say it, just the same.” She tentatively sat up, taking a few deep breaths while gauging her symptoms. The nausea was still there, but no longer as overwhelming compared to when she was in Marshall’s apartment. Sam wanted to brush her teeth and change clothes, slowly moving towards the bed’s edge, resting her feet on the ground. When it seemed like she wasn’t rushing towards the wastebasket propped next to the nightstand, Sam stood up slowly and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth with Charles following behind, making sure she made it there in one piece.

Assured that the worst of her vomiting spells had passed, Sam encouraged Charles to walk Bowser while she continued getting ready for bed. By the time she had finished her nighttime routine and was curling under the duvet, Charles and Bowser had made it back from their walk. Sam heard Charles’ footfalls approaching, and opened her eyes, thanking him for taking Bowser outside.

“Anything for my fellow Welshman,” Charles replied sitting beside her. “Would you like me to stay, Bunty?” He asked, the words flying faster than conscious thought.

Sam’s eyes widened, taken aback by Charles’ words. “Wait, you’re b-breaking rule number three willingly?” Whenever the rule of spending the night had come into question, Sam would usually be at Charles’ place (and she won every time). It was rare for him to spend the night at her apartment, rarer still for him to ask willingly versus silently agreeing. 

“We both know that one’s been long broken.” He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. “And we’ve done nothing but break the rules since we left for Vegas. I’m sure a few more can’t hurt.”

“Throwing caution to the wind, who are you and what have you done with my c-cantankerous goat?” Charles smiled, she must have been feeling better teasing him so. “Besides,” she yawned, “Can’t we just get rid of them all together?” She replied sleepily, fading in and out of consciousness.

He wanted to say yes. And perhaps that scared him more than anything, how easily he wanted to do as she asked, his resolve crumbling away like sandstone. As much as he told himself, _keep your distance, don’t get attached_ , he had done the complete opposite. Samara had come to mean great deal to him, a fact he realized he could not continue to ignore. But he held back, choosing to kiss the top of her head before heading to his car and grabbing his gym bag with spare clothes. It might have disappeared, but an invisible chain still remained, tying him in place and unable to completely move forward.

Charles took a brief shower, quickly drying his hair with the towel, having terminated his original plans to shower at home after receiving Marshall’s phone call. He found sweatpants and a t-shirt that would’ve been oversized on Samara, but fit him just fine. Placing his glasses next to hers on the bedside table (He did remember to switch from his contacts to his glasses after his lessons concluded), Charles slid under the covers on the opposite side of the bed. 

Sam rolled in her sleep, an arm reaching out and flung around Charles’ waist, her face pressed against his back. Charles smiled, wrapping his fingers around hers, and wished her goodnight.

\---

Sam opened her eyes groggily, her head resting on a firm surface. She glanced up and saw Charles still asleep, his arms draped loosely around her. Suddenly, she heard the chimes of the alarm set on Charles’ phone, groaning at the device’s impeccable timing.

Charles stirred, sitting upright as Samara leaned over and silenced the alarm. “Good Morning,” he said huskily, reaching down to brush the errant strands of hair across Samara’s face. “How are you feeling?”

“Better that you’re here,” she replied cheekily, earning a chuckle from Charles. “Thank you for staying with me, even if I was a giant slime monster.”

 _Twelve,_ Charles mentally noted, unable to turn off the internal tally his brain kept regarding nights spent with Samara Young. “Think nothing of it. I am at your service, even if it means vanquishing giant slime monsters.”

“From what I remember, your services are very expensive,” she once glanced at a payroll spreadsheet on her father’s desktop, jaw nearly dropping at the number of zeroes next to Charles’ name, “I expect you will need to b-be reimbursed for your services.” Her fingers trailed along his abdomen, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his borrowed pajamas.

Charles leaned down and wrapped his arm under her shoulder blades. Pulling her towards him, Charles tilted Samara’s jaw upward, gentle lips pressing against hers, “Then pay up, Mrs. Jones.” They both froze, him at the escaped words, her at the nausea making another reappearance from the sudden movements. Before Charles could say anything, Sam raced for the wastebasket, dry heaving into the plastic bin. 

“Looks like I’m not completely better.” Sam bemoaned, choosing to focus on the empty container instead of Charles’ previous words. He hadn’t called her that since they left Las Vegas, using it to tease her and enjoy her reaction at being riled up. But it remained true, if only by a technicality. 

“You should stay home today,” Charles ran his hand up and down Samara’s back soothingly, choosing to follow her lead and ignore his previous comments, “I’ll see that you’re approved for telework today.”

“Thanks Charles,” Sam looked up miserably from her trash can. Charles ruffled her bedhead affectionately before getting ready for work. Once he finished his routine, Charles took Bowser for his morning walk while Sam laid back down after the waves of nausea had passed.

When Charles returned, he brought in her work bag and laptop, encouraging her to rest and not outpace herself. He kissed the top of her head and left for work, while she booted up her laptop. She had made considerable progress given her ability to work remotely, interspersed with crackers, Powergator and short naps.

Sam had awoken to the sound of her ringtone, interrupting her dreams of samurai cats and ice hockey. She looked at her phone and saw it was Monica, swiping right to accept her call. “Hey, Monica.” 

**“Hey Kiddo, just wanted to check in on you. Marshall mentioned you weren’t feeling well on your dinner date.”**

“If spending the evening hugging the toilet after unexpectedly bad takeout is your idea of a date, I really hate to know what you consider a good time.” 

**“Actually after our first-second date, I had some bad sushi and spent the whole time in the bathroom back at Marshall’s old place.”** Monica recalled. **“He can’t stand vomit, but he kept checking in on me and passed me bottled water and wet wipes using a broom handle and a plastic bag.”**

“Lucky girl,” Sam laughed while sipping from the Powergator Charles left on her bedside table. “He tossed me out as soon as,” she paused, careful not to mention Charles, “One of my friends came to take me home.”

**“Sounds like a good friend.”**

“He really is.” Sam internally winced at the slip of her tongue. 

**“Oh?”** Her pink-haired friend caught on quickly. **“Do I know this friend? Is he the one whose eye you’ve been trying to catch?”**

 _You have no idea._ Sam looked up at the ceiling. “You could say that.”

**“Are you guys seeing each other?**

“We’re talking.” _Sometimes in tongues._ She thought bemusedly, the last time they had _talked_ was when she wore her Ariadne costume the night before last, indulging Charles with a private viewing. ‘ _I assure you Miss Mage,’_ Sam recalled the memory of Charles pinning her against his dining table, his lips, tongue and teeth along the swell of her breasts as his hips ground against hers _,_ _“My wandwork is excellent.”_

_“I’m sure your...staff is quite impressive.” She countered with a giggle before a moan escaped past her lips while his enclosed around the nipple of one of her now exposed breasts, having made quick work of undoing her corset. She whimpered as he repeated his motions with the other breast, moving lower, placing kisses on her abdomen, upper thighs until he encountered the edge of her bodysuit._

_“I had top marks in charms,” Charles glanced up, blue eyes glinting in the fading light, “But my particular speciality is parlor tricks, especially knots” he murmured, breath warm against her core, “And making clothes disappear,” grinning wolfishly before his tongue glided along the satin fabric, tugging it aside and doing the same on bare skin, her hips thrusting against his mouth as he sucked on her clit while his fingers moved languidly inside her._

**“I guess he’s a good talker.”** Monica teased, rousing Sam from her daydream.

“Um, sorry, yes.” Sam flushed at the memories. “He’s a very good talker. Sometimes he charms the pants right off me.” She squeaked, slapping her hand across her lips. What was with today and her runaway mouth?

“Don’t hold out on me kiddo, spill.” Monica crooned, “If only one of us is getting laid, I need some sexy stories to keep me warm at night.”

“Well, maybe that’ll change this weekend?” Sam referred to Monica’s pending date with Marshall.

Monica laughed dryly. **“We’re trying to hold off on the sleeping together part, remember?** ” They had continued to meet up as friends, spending time at each other’s apartments, playing at the dog park with Dinah, a disastrous attempt at following his baba’s recipe for nabe stew. He even showed her his drawing portfolio, filled with his sketches and designs for Sam’s game app, something he hadn't been comfortable showing to anyone aside from when he and Sam started working together. 

_“Is that me?” Monica pointed to an unfinished portrait of her mid-laugh. “She’s beautiful.”_

_“It’s how I see you.” Marshall quietly confessed, his fingers nearly touching hers. Feeling more emotional and vulnerable than she cared to admit, Monica pulled him into a hug, spending the remainder of their evening cuddling on the couch._

“ **Although** ,” Monica sighed, “ **He does some amazing things with that tongue though. What about your guy?”** She laughed, sensing Sam’s hesitation and imaging her face matching the shade of cherry tomatoes. **“Any particularly amazing parts?”**

“Um,” Sam chewed her lip thoughtfully. What didn’t she like about Charles, his eyes, his smile, his butt- “Hands. He’s got really nice hands, long fingers.”  
  
 **“The kind that can reach all the right places?”**

“Yeah, he’s long in all the right places.” Sam trailed off, incredibly embarrassed but secretly pleased listening to Monica laugh on the other end. Although Vikki and Marshall knew about Charles, she hadn’t really talked to anyone about him, the things that happened on his bed, the couch, her work desk. But it was sorta fun, dishing about boys like this.

 **“Shoot, I gotta go, we’re moving to another location. But we’ll talk more when I get back, don’t think you’re off the hook missy, I need more details about this mystery talker.”** Sam could hear Monica talking to an assistant in the background. **“Love you babe.”**

Sam returned the affection, wishing her friend luck on her second first date and accepting Monica’s invite for coffee and shopping when she got back from San Francisco before hanging up. Monica was one of those friends she was unexpectedly grateful for, taking up on her offer for a complete makeover, from makeup to hair to clothes. It was like a sprint triathlon trying to keep up with the makeup-guru as she helped Sam revitalize her closet, from business attire, date outfits, and even lingerie. She thought back to a dark purple set she wore the first time, her _first_ time, with Charles. Recalling the fierce hunger in his eyes as he took in her lace-clad figure, overwhelmed by his gentleness and intensity, Sam needed to thank Monica for convincing her to buy the lingerie or else she and Charles wouldn’t be together in the first place. 

_‘More or less,’_ Sam contemplated, her pensive thoughts interrupted by a text notification from Charles telling her he would be coming over for lunch with soup and walkies for Bowser. For a man who claimed to be cold and uncaring, his actions spoke contradictory volumes. He came through for her in unexpected ways, last night adding to the long list of things Charles did for her. He had taken care of her before when she was feeling under the weather. Once, he chose to bring her soup and comfort foods despite her attempts to cancel their movie not-a-date at her place when her period came a few days earlier and was dealing with some awful cramps. And this time he stayed with her after bad takeout, nausea, vomiting, fatigue, sore breasts.

Sam’s brow furrowed, reaching over to open the drawer to her nightstand. Her thoughts raced in a panicked blur. When was the last time she had her period? She found her birth control, taking her daily pill and then examining the pill pack. She could’ve sworn she had taken all of her pills when she was scheduled to while she and Charles continued to use condoms. They were being careful weren’t they? Sam then remembered there may have been a few instances they hadn’t used condoms (the couple times in the shower at his place, the bathtub in Vegas. She really enjoyed that bathtub). Chewing her lip, she made a mental note to stop by the drugstore after Charles went back to work. 

—-

Finishing the last of her pho, her appetite and energy back twofold, Sam Poogled the nearest drugstore. Charles had just left while a worn out Bowser who had spent most of the walk chasing after squirrels was currently napping by her feet at the end of the couch. She carefully got dressed, mindful not to make quick movements in case her nausea decided to make a comeback. Throwing on a comfortable jacket, Sam snuck past her sleeping puppy and exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. 

Sam pulled her hood up when she entered the WVS, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Grabbing a small basket, she wandered down the aisles, filling it with random items, toothbrush, nail polish, chocolates, until she reached the feminine products section standing right in front of the pregnancy tests. She had just snatched one when she heard a familiar voice behind her. She spun around, burying the pink box below her distractor items. “Mom!”

Samantha Young wrapped her arms around her youngest, squeezing her tightly. “Honey, your dad mentioned you weren’t feeling well and you were working from home today, why aren’t you in bed?” 

“I had some pho and was feeling better, what are you doing here?” 

“I had today off and I was planning on surprising you with your favorite chicken noodle soup and cold meds, but you beat me to the punch.” Samantha gestured to her shopping basket. “Say, why don’t I pay for both of our things and we can go have a sick-day movie marathon like old times?”

“No, that’s okay.” Sam hid the basket behind her. “I mean, I’ll pay for my items and we can have a movie marathon.” She immediately corrected seeing the puppy-dog pout on her mom’s face. 

“Are you sure sweetie? I just need to grab a couple more things.” Samantha tried to grab Sam’s shopping basket, **Mama Bear used Fury Swipes!** only for it to be held away from arm’s reach. 

“Yep!” Sam exclaimed, **Baby Seal used Dodge Roll! It was super effective!** maneuvering around her mom. “I’m done so I can meet you at the registers when you finish.” Sam scurried away before her mother could object. She ran up to an empty self-checkout register and quickly scanned, swiped, and secured her items in the shopping bag before her mom approached a cashier, blatantly ogling at her and asking if she was a movie star or in commercials recently. 

Once they got away from the star-struck cashier, Samantha drove them back to Sam’s apartment. Her mom happily distracted by Bowser, Sam snuck around and hid the plastic bag in her sock drawer. As much as she wanted to know the answer the pink box held, she’d have to wait until her mom left. Sam told her mom she had to complete a couple tasks before she finished teleworking for the day, putting on her soundproof headphones to focus on her work while Samantha and Bowser played and watched pet documentaries on Netpix. 

Despite the snafu at the drugstore, Sam was happy to spend time with her mom. It had been a long while since they had a mother-daughter day since she was busy travelling to different locations for her modeling job, having just gotten back from Alaska filming a vacation promotional ad. If her last commercial on erectile dysfunction was any indicator, Sam was sure tourism sales would go through the roof. 

After watching episodes of Professor Clockwork against the Mournful Gargoyles, making enough soup and food to last Sam for a week, and impassioned pleas from her dad via cell phone, her mom finally relented and headed home, instructing Sam to call her if she needed anything. Sam sighed, shutting the door behind her, only to see Bowser approach her, leash firmly between his teeth. “Okay boy,” Sam agreed, clipping his leash onto his collar. “Walkies then bed.” After Bowser was done peeing on trees, maybe she’d get the chance to pee on a stick.

\---

The next morning, Sam awoke to her alarm, groggy and still mildly nauseous. Although it wasn’t as bad as before, she grabbed one of the saltines left on her nightstand. She finished the cracker by the time she got to the bathroom and started her morning routine. Brushing her teeth, she stared at the plastic waste bin where the used pregnancy test lay almost tauntingly. Maybe the type she bought was a defect, she would’ve bought more if it weren’t for her mom’s surprise sneak attack. Was her pee too diluted? She had chugged several cups of water beforehand so she’d be ready to pee right away. She wondered, remembering the faint lines on the dipstick, which according to her Poogle search could mean either positive or negative. 

She looked down to her phone at the text notification informing her Charles would be there in half an hour. They had talked last night when Charles got home, this time following an escape room test runthrough. He asked if she was feeling well enough to return to work tomorrow and if he could pick her up. Despite her insistence at taking the bus and Charles’ opinions on public transportation, they had agreed to a compromise where they would carpool in the morning and she’d take the bus home. There were times, however, Sam would skip the bus entirely and head over to Charles’ place instead. She thought back to one night where they didn’t even make it out of the staff parking garage, somehow (and successfully) having sex in the backseat of Charles’ speedster. 

Sam changed into fitted slacks, a navy buttoned blouse and a charcoal blazer. Getting Bowser’s leash, she pulled on a pair of loafers and took him on a quick walk. By the time she got back, Charles’ car had just parked in front of her complex. She dropped Bowser off in the apartment, grabbed her work bag and got into Charles’ car, her senses flooded with coffee and cinnamon. “My hero,” Sam grinned at the offered coffee from Charles. 

“I trust you’re feeling better this morning?” Charles asked, merging into traffic.

“Still a little nauseous,” Sam confessed, sipping from her coffee, sighing contentedly as the caffeine entered her system. “But feeling much better.” She paused momentarily before she took another sip of her cinnamon vanilla latte. Was she allowed to have caffeine? Determined to enjoy her morning coffee, Sam decided she needed to stop by the drugstore during her lunch break and find out once and for all. 

“Just let me know if you need to take time off this afternoon, or,” Charles’ words trailed off upon hearing Samara’s laughter.

“You’re just as bad as my family,” Sam explained how her mother came over last night and spent the evening binge-watching their favorite show and making enough meals to fill her empty freezer. “I thought we were working on helping me become more independent and break out of my crib,” another laugh escaped at Charles’ flat expression, “Your words exactly.”

“Touche,” Charles considered, mildly annoyed at the idea of being compared to Samara’s family, her mother exempt, “Your father did pass on the torch of ensuring your well-being,” he chuckled at the image of a miniature Samara as an Olympic torch, “Metaphorically speaking.”

“That might be the closest thing to an approval we’ll ever get from my dad since we ran away and got married in Vegas.” Sam smirked, ribbing at their misadventures last weekend.

“Yes,” Charles replied wryly, “Given my villainous role, absconding with you only for your riches.” 

“If anything, I’m the one after your money,” Sam immediately thought of Charles’ three level midtown apartment that clearly exceeded her budget by several zeroes, “Maybe you just needed me for a green card.”  
  
“Which I’ve already acquired for myself.” He retorted, entering the parking garage and pulling into his assigned spot. “Or perhaps despite my better judgement, I was unable to resist when you asked to marry me, winning me over with your beauty, sparkling wit and powers of persuasion.”

Sam was taken aback by the solemnity in Charles’ voice, how his eyes focused on her. _Two truths and a lie._ It was a game Charles introduced as part of their lessons to help improve her emotional intelligence and social anxiety, from negotiation tactics to social influence, even recognizing when someone was trying to manipulate or exploit; necessary skills whether she chose to become a game designer or take over YoungTech. He told her to never apologize for telling him the truth, how he valued her honesty. But sometimes, she wondered, did he hold fast to the same principles about her? Two truths and a lie was used in theoretical situations, and although she was far from proficient at readily identifying the lie, she was getting _better_ at recognizing the half-truths Charles disguised himself in, at work, with clients. It was what made him so good at his job, but also, discomforted at the possibility he could be doing the same with her. 

“We were also very drunk,” Sam carefully composed her response, “So I’m sure I was as convincing as selling water to a fish stuck on land.” 

“Do give yourself more credit, Bunty,” Charles unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over, his breath warm in her ear, “I can think of many occasions where I was compelled by your arguments without undue influence.” He lightly bit her earlobe, enjoying the whimper spilling past Samara’s lips as he traced her outer ear with his tongue. “Now then,” Charles pulled back abruptly, collecting his coffee and briefcase before exiting the car, “Best be going or else we’ll be counted as late.” 

Sam silently fumed, equally pleased and annoyed at Charles for knowing how sensitive her ears were. She grabbed her things and exited the car, catching up to Charles. “That was a dirty trick,” she muttered while entering the elevator. “You’re gonna pay big for that.”

Charles bent down and whispered, “I look forward to it,” amused by the blush spreading across Samara’s face and her attempt to defend herself by covering her ears as the elevator doors closed. 

\---

Sam had every intent of getting back at Charles for his earlier mischief, but she was completely engulfed with tasks, requests, and client correspondence as soon as she got to her office. After meeting with her father and reassuring him of her recovery from her bug and was fit to work, the rest of the morning dissolved into a blur, until her stomach grumbled and she realized it was approaching noon. She munched on a few saltines, the only thing that seemed to help with her nausea and mildly upset stomach. Sam had walked by the company break room, her nausea triggered by the Major Donuts Umed had brought in that morning. She got by with the occasional saltine break, but at the rate she was eating them, she was going to need to stock up. 

Putting her laptop in sleep mode, Sam got her purse and glanced outside her office. The coast was seemingly clear, Charles was with her father on a virtual meeting with clients in New York and if she timed it right, Lucy should be on her lunch break with Jacob. Granted that was an unexpected pairing since last time Sam checked, Lucy seemed to be hung up on the UPS delivery guy. Then again stranger things had happened, considering her and Charles. 

A year ago, they had barely spoken to each other outside of work-related matters and now, she sighed while making her escape past the office entrance into the main lobby, she was sneaking to Dwight-Reed for pregnancy tests. Luckily, this go-round had gone much smoother with no unexpected run-ins with family members or other recognizable faces. Until she literally ran straight into a familiar blonde woman in the targeted section of condoms and pregnancy tests. “So sorry, Marie?”

The bespectacled woman turned and smiled at Sam. “Hey! Small world running into you like this.”  
  
Sam bit her inner lip, anxious to collect her quested item.

**You encounter ‘Random Acquaintance,’ please select the following options to proceed,**

  1. **Run away**
  2. **Throw nearby items to distract ‘Random Acquaintance’**
  3. **Make small talk**
  4. **Hide until ‘Random Acquaintance' leaves.**



**Sam selects C. Make small Talk!**

“I didn’t know you were living in California.” 

“Oh no, just visiting Abe actually. Luckily my job allows me to work remotely, so as long as I have wifi and my laptop, I’m good to go. Just needed to pick up a few things.” Marie grabbed two boxes of Magnums and dropped them into her shopping basket with energy bars and several bottles of Powergator. 

“I take it things are going well?” Sam mentallly exclaimed, not sure how she felt about this newfound knowledge of someone who was essentially her guild mother.

“The best, well, Abe’s the best, I’m really enjoying our time together.” Marie looked at a text notification and grinned widely. “I better get going. Oh hey, I might see you for tonight’s raid, Abe invited me to come along.”

“See you then,” Sam waved as the blonde-haired woman headed towards the registers. Taking a deep breath, Sam dumped several pregnancy tests into her basket along with a box of saltines and ginger ale. She waited until she was sure Marie exited the drugstore before rushing up to the self-checkout register, depositing her items in a paper bag (the store’s attempt to reduce plastic waste). After being informed the store’s bathroom was closed due to maintenance, she headed back to the office building.

Entering the main lobby restrooms, Sam went into one of the back stalls and took out the pregnancy tests. She selected one at random and followed its instructions, waiting for the results. And after two minutes, she followed the instructions of another test. 

And another. 

And another. 

\---

Sam returned to YoungTech, mumbling a hello to Lucy as she walked past the reception desk in a daze. She made it back to her office and closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Setting the bag on her work station, she took out the ginger ale and drank slowly, suppressing some of the nausea she was now certain wasn’t from bad Chinese food. Sam glanced at the plain brown paper bag containing the used pregnancy tests, wrapped in toilet paper and stuffed into one of the empty boxes. 

Recalling Jay-Jay’s instructions, Sam did her deep breathing exercises, but found herself reaching for her inhaler, her mind racing a hundred miles an hour. She felt flushed, light-headed, chest-tightening, and could swore her heart was beating so strongly she could hear it. Shaking the device, Sam took her two prescribed puffs just as Charles walked into her office.

“Miss Young,” Charles knocked on the door as he entered, wanting to go over the proposal details with a recent client when he saw Samara standing, breathing from her inhaler, shoulders shaking. “Bunty, what happened?” Worry overtook him as he closed the door behind him and held her shoulders, applying gentle motions to calm her tremors.

Sam looked away from Charles, traces of doubt in her expression. How could she explain? She wasn’t sure where to start. Sam set her inhaler down and reached for the paper bag on her desk, knuckles clenched tightly around the handles. “Charles, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean, I just,” her voice quivered, tears unexpectedly forming at the corners of her eyes.

“Look at me, Samara.” Charles gently held her chin and turned her head to face him. “Whatever’s troubling you, we’ll figure it out together. I promise.” He brushed his forehead against hers, then placed a soft kiss on her brow. “Now what’s going on?”

Before Sam could respond, they were interrupted by a loud, booming voice, causing them to jump apart. “Pumpkin!” Samuel announced after knocking loudly on the door, “I just finished my last meeting and was wondering if you wanted to join me for lunch since your mother got some mother-daughter time yesterday and we haven’t had father-daughter time recently.” He stopped mid-sentence, eying Charles suspiciously with laser focus.

“I already ate, Dad, got tacos,” Sam made up on the spot, stepping in front of Charles to give him some distance from her father. “But we can have dinner before my raid tonight.” 

“Oh the food truck down the street? Are those leftovers?” Before Sam could pull the bag away, Samuel peeked into the paper bag, “I love their carnitas.” The YoungTech CEO stood almost frozen, as if he were encased in ice, upon seeing the bag’s contents, the box of saltines and the home pregnancy kit. 

“Mr. Young?” Charles spoke, also wanting to know about the bag’s contents that caused his employer’s reaction. He had just leaned over Samara’s shoulder to take a closer look, when he found his back against the wall, staring into darkened eyes filled with rage and smoldering fury rivaling the deepest infernos. 

“YOU.” The singular statement raised the hairs on the back of Charles’ neck. He was accustomed to Samuel Young’s antics, emotional outbursts, and the occasional deportation threat. But this was new.

“Sir?” Charles asked, genuinely unaware of what had occurred in the span of under a minute to elicit this reaction. Then again, he was sleeping with his boss’ daughter and as far as he knew, Samuel was completely in the dark regarding his daughter’s romantic life (The rest of the office was well aware, but also didn’t want to be called in as crime witnesses so they remained quiet for Charles’ and Sam’s sakes). 

“I should’ve never agreed to Sam being your assistant! I knew something had happened between you two, you villain, you cad!” Samuel shook his fist at Charles, barely holding onto the threads of restraint that prevented him from wringing his British neck.

“Dad, stop!” Sam stepped between the two men, pushing her dad aside. “It’s not Charles’ fault, he’s not the only one to blame. I-I’m the one who p-pursued him. And he’s b-been nothing b-but k-kind and respectful to me!”

Charles’ eyes widened in alarm for several reasons. One, whether this was the time or place to be revealing their causal relationship (he could argue definitions later when he wasn’t facing against a raging bull of a man) to Samara’s father. Two, that Samara, who absolutely loathed confrontation, was possibly the very thing preventing him from being obliterated from existence by an enraged Samuel Young. And three, what the hell was in that bag?

Flames seem to erupt from her father, reminding Sam of a previous boss raid in WoW. “If he respected you, he wouldn’t have come near you or touched you,” Samuel’s voice broke off in a sob, he could barely handle the idea of his baby girl showing cleavage, let alone any form of physical intimacy. “Are you sure?”

Sam gulped. It was now or never. “Y-yes.” She turned to face Charles, bewildered and confused with his normally kempt hair askew. She saw a stray flame on Charles’ shoulder, stamping it out quickly with the back of her hand. This was not how she wanted to go about this at all, but really if she wanted him alive, she had no other choice. “Charles,” Sam reached into the paper bag and pulled out the box with the pregnancy tests, “I’m pregnant. You’re the f-father.”

Charles blinked, wondering if his eardrums blew out when Mr. Young roared at him earlier. But then he saw the box with the words **Home Pregnancy Kit** emblazoned across it. He then looked at Samara, her brown eyes bright and luminous. He was in disbelief, horror, shock, but also wonder? Forgetting himself for just a moment, he extended his hand and brushed away the tears that had begun to spill down Samara’s cheeks. “Bunty, how…” But before he could process anything further, he saw Samuel’s looming figure from the corner of his eye, the figurative flames growing larger, more focused. “No!” Charles’ arms encircled Samara and pulled her aside as Samuel let out another roar. Maybe it was a trick of the light or his eyes, but it seemed as if he was breathing fire, sending blasts throughout the office. 

“So you admit it!” Samuel bellowed, redirecting his rage on a decorative end table and snapping it in half. “You fiend!”

“Would you rather I outright deny it, sir?” Charles continued to hold Samara protectively, regaining his focus and finding himself annoyed with Samuel’s continued tomfoolery.

“I would rather you kept your hands away from my daughter! But you’ve stolen her virtue, her innocence! And now she’s unwed with child.” Samuel sobbed at this realization, sitting on the small couch while holding the ends of the broken table.

“Okay Dad,” Sam sighed at her father’s propensity for the dramatic. “For starters, I’m not destitute and penniless, I do work here remember? Plus this is the 21st century, lots of people have kids without getting married. But we,” She glanced quickly at Charles and silently urged him to play along, choosing to strike the hammer while it was hot.

“We got married.” Charles finished. “Before I even knew she was pregnant, I just found out, same as you.” He countered before Samuel could object, ruling out a shotgun wedding. Granted it was an impulsive marriage of sorts, but it appeared to be in their best interest to settle for the half-truths for now.

“Married my only daughter, without her family, without my permission?” Samuel began working himself up, pointing one of the end table pieces angrily at Charles. “What nefarious plans do you have for my child? Are you after her money, a green card? I should fire you, I should deport you-”

“I can d-decide for myself, Dad.” Sam cut off his tirade. “And I don’t have p-power or status or whatever you think Charles needs to manipulate me of. He’s been so supportive and understanding and yes, he p-pushes me, but he pushes me to be a better person. I’ve learned so much from him, he’s helped me find the courage and strength to go past my limits, things I don’t think I would’ve been brave enough to try in the first place. I’m so thankful he’s in my life. So Dad, please don’t threaten to deport him, because I,” Sam looked to her father, her gaze steady and keen, “I love him. So very much.” She then buried her face in Charles’ chest, uncertain this time which were her two truths and a lie.

“As you are well aware, Mr. Young, I already have a green card. Besides, Samara,” Charles pressed on despite the visible twitching of Samuel’s jaw at his use of his daughter’s first name, “Is an incredible, brilliant, beautiful, kind-hearted woman. I care for her immensely. She means the world to me, and I,” Charles took a half-step back, reaching into his pocket and holding out the engagement ring Sam gave to him for safekeeping, “Cannot imagine a world without her in it.” He slid the ring back on Samara’s finger, bringing her hand to his lips. 

“You held onto it?” Sam stared at the sapphire back on her ring finger where it seemed to belong. 

“I’ve been meaning to give it back,” Charles opted to leave out the part where he kept the rings in his trousers’ pocket everyday since they returned from Vegas. “Now it’s back.” He also wondered which were his two truths and a lie. Or if there were any lies to begin with.

They turned to face Samuel in almost perfect symmetry, which appeared to be the final straw for the older gentlemen as he sat once more, frozen in place. Sam walked over to her father, waving a hand in front of his eyes. She could picture a browser window above his head, **Samuel.exe has crashed. Select [Ok] to restart?** “That might have actually broken him. Let me call my mom.”

\--- 

After Samantha arrived to take Samuel home to recover from the shocking news, Sam and Charles went to divide and conquer, Charles reassuring the rest of the staff that he wasn’t fired or deported despite Samuel’s threats, while Sam told her mother what had happened.

“That is surprising to hear.” Samantha looked at her loveable fool of a husband, setting the broken end table pieces aside. “I can see why he went into rigor. It’s a lot for your father’s heart to take in one go.”  
  
“You’re not upset? Or mad?” Sam asked hesitantly, knowing her mom was the more reasonable member of their family, but still apprehensive of her response just the same.

“Sweetie, as much as your father tries to deny it,” Samantha linked arms with her daughter, “You’re a grown woman fully capable of making your own choices, and I hope sensible enough to take responsibility for those actions. I was surprised by the marriage for sure.”

“Really? Not the um, getting the pregnant part?”  
  
“I mean, I knew you were having sex.” Sam was practically maroon-colored at her mother’s comment, “Mother’s intuition. Were you using protection?”   
  
“Yes, and birth control but I guess we messed up somewhere.”

“You were always one to beat the odds.” Samantha pressed her cheek to Sam’s affectionately. “Whatever you decide, your father and I are here to support you. And it seems like your husband is too.” They both saw Charles reentering Sam’s office.

“Still in rigor?” He pointed to Samuel.

“Only for a few more minutes, my new son-in-law,” Samantha unlinked herself from Sam and walked up to Charles, “I really wish we found out under better circumstances. I’m sorry my husband threatened bodily harm and/or deportation against you.”  
  
“Nothing I’m not already familiar with, Mrs. Young.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Nonsense and besides, I’m Mom, Samantha or whatever you’re comfortable with,” Samantha pulled Charles into a hug. He awkwardly patted her back, unsure what the appropriate response would be, looking to Samara for help.

“JONES.” Samuel appeared to have snapped out of his trance, dark eyes sparked with fire upon seeing his wife’s arms wrapped around his General Manager.

“Darling,” Samantha turned away, exchanging places with Sam while she tended to her husband, who barely needed convincing to take the rest of the day off. “We should have a sit down with Jay-Jay the next time he’s off to break the news to him, heaven knows he’s too similar to his father when it comes to you, Sam.”

“Don’t I know it,” Sam sighed, finding herself emotionally drained, “We’ll be sure to prepare until then.” She waved goodbye to her parents as they left her office before practically throwing herself on the couch. “That was exhausting.” She rested her head against the seat cushions.

Charles sat next to her, also equally exhausted. “Did that really happen?” A part of him was still in disbelief even though Samara had shown him all four positive pregnancy tests while Samuel was still immobilized. “I think I need to thank you for saving my life.”

“Well I couldn’t let the father of my baby leave the country or be destroyed by my dad.” Sam rested her hands on her belly. There was a baby, an actual baby in there. “About what I said earlier, in the moment,” she trailed off when she saw Charles’ hand held up in a gesture to stop.

“It’s easier to tell a lie as long as there’s a little bit of truth in it.” He’d never admit to the warmth that flooded his senses when Samara confessed her supposed love for him, even if it was a ploy to spare his life.

“What you taught me.” Sam nodded. “I didn’t expect it to go that far, but f-for the first time, I was actually worried whether my dad was going to hurt you and I couldn’t forgive myself if it h-happened.” But then it went back to her original question. Which were the lies and which were her truths? “As angry as he is, I figured the thought of his grandchild fatherless and me widowed outweighed his desire to destroy you outright, and the best way to de-escalate the situation.”

“You weren’t wrong, Bunty.” He extended his arm, his hand wrapped in hers. “You saved my life and I applaud you for your quick thinking. Then again, you do have an excellent teacher.” Charles chuckled at Sam’s rolled eyes. “I’ll try to do what I can to salvage the rest of your father’s work for today and then I’ll take you home. There’s still a lot we need to discuss.”

Sam nodded her head in agreement. Charles held her hand, kissing the palm before leaving the office. She laid down on the couch, her mind continuing to race and process the earlier events, her heart full of butterflies and anxieties and fears and uncertainties. 

\---

_We could be more than just part-time lovers_

_(Yeah, more than, more than lovers)_

_We could be more than just part-time lovers_

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My oh my oh myyyyyyyy, hope you enjoyed the detour into kdrama-land, but buckle in, it might get bumpy from here on out ;D


	5. Good Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakey-wakey Charmers! They say the universe has a great sense of humor. That the deepest secrets are forced into the light. Or what you’ve been so desperately avoiding ends up being the very thing you’ve wanted most. 
> 
> Last time, our daring duo was forced to reveal some serious secrets with serious repercussions. And although they’ve survived relatively unscathed, how are they doing really? If you think our resident charming, commitment-phobic, brooding Brit was handling things well, darlings, you’re in for a surprise. 
> 
> All the king’s horses and all the king’s men haven’t really figured how to put Charles back together again. You know you love me, XOXO San-chan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Insert Kristen Bell's voice above ^)
> 
> Forever and always thanks to my beta/twin/soul sis/eagle to my bambi/strawberry jam to my peanut butter Gallifreya, who finally (after some convincing/pestering/annoying on my end lolll) has an ao3, **IntoTheGallifray**! Show her some love and enjoy all the amazing Charm content <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Also MATURE warnings for steamy steamy sexytime scenes ;D

Chapter 5: Good Grief

\---

_You might have to excuse me_

_I've lost control of all my senses_

_And you might have to excuse me_

_I've lost control of all my words_

_\---_

Charles had returned to his office, shutting the door behind him. He immediately went over to his desktop and pulled up his calendar, selecting the link labeled, _Samuel Young, CEO_ _,_ which forwarded Charles to Mr. Young’s calendar displaying today’s date and the remaining tasks left in his employer’s day. He went through each of the tasks methodically and efficiently. 

Despite his boss’ emotional outbursts, Mr. Young performed his job well, so a majority of the work was completed, just needing a final authorization, and other items that required finer details addressed. In this instance, he was relieved for the extra busy work. It took his mind off the earlier events, falling into the monotony of clicks, opening and closing browser windows, and email correspondence.

Then the phone rang.

\---

Charles laid on the floor, hidden behind his desk as he went over the series of events that had occurred over the course of the afternoon. He had lost the contract with Nevarro Bounty & Trade, unable to dissuade their decision to withdraw their business with YoungTech, despite his reassurances and recommendations about the proposed product. **_“This is the way.”_** The cold, distant voice stated before hanging up. He had notified Mr. Young of what had occurred and after receiving that earful, Charles needed a caffeine boost. 

Unfortunately, when he tried to make a fresh pot in the staff lounge, the coffee machine started spitting sparks and smoke before Charles turned it off. When he decided to switch to tea, grabbing his secret stash of Earl Grey personally blended by his grandmammy (a favorite hobby of hers, mixing lavender and dried fruits from her garden with the black tea leaves), he spilled the tea, knocking over the loose leaf tin when he tried to fill the electric kettle, only for a pipe to suddenly burst and spray water directly in his face, soaking his clothes and somehow losing one of his contacts. 

After cleaning up what he could, Charles asked Umed, who had entered the staff lounge to see what had happened, to contact housekeeping and maintenance. He had returned to his office, dried off and changed into his spare clothes and glasses. He followed up with maintenance, and was annoyed with being called English three times before resuming his work. When he was more than halfway through his remaining tasks, Samara stopped by with a coffee from a nearby shop when she heard what had happened in the break room. After agreeing to dinner at her place so she’d make it to her Friday night raid, Charles was able to finish the last of his and Mr. Young’s tasks for the day when he saw an unfamiliar phone number, the words, _Las Vegas, NV,_ flashing underneath on his cell phone.

In his haste, however, Charles knocked over his coffee, snatching his phone from the widening coffee spill, but unable to save his keyboard and paper files on his desk. He answered the phone while rushing to grab the towel he used to dry off earlier, and used it to absorb the seeping brown liquid. Fifteen minutes later, he finished his conversation with one of the Las Vegas law firms he left his contact info with about the annulment proceedings. The lawyer he spoke to corrected his earlier assumptions about being able to file for an annulment in Nevada, but instead it would have to be filed in California given their residency status. 

_“ **Trust me, the law can be confusing for Americans let alone for Aussies such as yourself.”** _Charles had gritted his teeth at the man’s words, irritated at having to explain repeatedly he was Welsh, dammit. The lawyer proceeded to discuss how they would need a certified copy of the marriage certificate forwarded from the County Marriage Bureau in Las Vegas to his residence, then submitted to the County Registrar in Santa Monica to proceed further. It took seven to ten days to receive the certified copy, but it would take additional time given the renovations and repairs after the recent fire and flooding from last week. 

And then, last, but not least, his desktop processor suddenly crashed, the blue screen of death flashing on his monitor. Charles tried turning it off, then on again. Even resorting to crawling underneath his desk to check the connections, the power surge protector, unplugging and re-plugging until he gave up and laid down on the carpet. Where he continued to lay for several moments.

He released a string of Welsh words, which to the untrained ear sounded like garbled nonsense. But it was exactly how Charles felt. He tried to take slow, meditative breaths, hoping it would recenter his focus instead of the growing dread threatening to overtake him as everything slowly spun out of control. 

He was good in a crisis. It was precisely why Mr. Young kept him on, his ability to discover solutions in impossible situations and remain level-headed, unflappable even in the most chaotic circumstances. He had always been fairly observant, which came in handy when using his abilities to anticipate his opponent’s moves, similarly in chess, fencing and puzzle-solving. He was very good, and it served him well.

But nothing prepared him from this. Was the universe finally out to get him? He was familiar with the occasional threat, being told he would rue the day for all the times he outmaneuvered or exploited the competition, soundly defeating his opponents. He did seem to attract an unsavory lot, which on occasion transferred well, thinking back to previous encounters with Ms. Rosewood and Ms. Lawson. His mam did warn him mixing business with pleasure would only end in disaster. But he did so enjoy skirting the rules. At least this version of himself. 

He spent all this time, so many years avoiding emotional attachments, the scars of his past forming and hardening around his heart. It was easier to be seen as the playboy, the cad, careless and callous. To separate from who he used to be, the young fool, devastated, broken-hearted and betrayed by the ones he once trusted with his life, his heart. 

The irony of it only to come back full circle. Was Karma now finally catching up with his misdeeds and manipulations? 

The ridiculousness of the situation seemed to escalate. He was fairly certain they wouldn’t be able to file for an annulment if there was a child involved. Which meant he would be divorced. Again. The stigma of being a first-time divorcee was one thing, but a second go-round; 

Well.

Charles released another frustrated shout, his fist slamming against the nearby desk. How did it end up like this? Somehow his life had turned into one of those Korean dramas his mother was recently addicted to, having lost focus halfway through their last conversation while she was trying to explain the plot of a series she was currently following. Maybe he should’ve paid better attention, it might have helped him out of the newest complication to their predicament.

He laid there, in the stillness, the quiet. Without the looming threat of imminent doom hanging above him, the events of the past week finally sank in and took hold.

There was no escape. The marriage could be revoked but now there was a baby, an actual child involved. That wasn’t something that could just be undone without consequences. Whatever happened next, they were bound to each other.

He ruined her. Trapped with a man unable to stomach commitment, a spineless coward unworthy of her who’d only break her heart. He knew marriage didn’t always mean a happy ending. He knew what it was like when it all fell apart. It wasn’t worth putting her through this. He wasn’t worth it. 

A dull headache began to spread from the base of his skull, wrapping tightly around his head. He pushed his glasses up, pressing his palms against his face. He felt hot, a vice-like grip around his heart. He hadn’t truly cried, not like when he first came to the States, fresh from his divorce, alone on his birthday and the official end of his marriage. Anytime he had gotten close, he’d get tension headaches, chest tightening, blood pounding between his ears. Much like now. But his eyes would remain dry. 

The silence was interrupted with a knock on the door, a familiar voice calling out to him. He withdrew his hands and listened to the shuffle of her feet as Samara walked towards his desk. “Charles?” He looked up at Samara hovering over him, a fixed point that seemed to anchor everything in place. “What happened? Why are you lying on the ground? Are you hurt?” She kneeled down, placed her work bag aside and looked for any signs of injury. 

“I’m fine, I promise, Bunty,” Charles reassured her, “Seems like your father’s flair for the dramatic has rubbed off on me somewhat.” He explained what had happened earlier with Nevarro, the kitchen, his console, his discussion with the Las Vegas lawyers on their assumed divorce proceedings. At some point during the conversation, Samara had shifted so she was lying beside him, bringing back memories of the last time they were like this (granted she was on top while he stayed on the carpeted linoleum). “I don’t mean to burden you like this Samara.”

“You’re always supporting me Charles, let me do the same for you.” Sam turned onto her side to face him. “Besides, I’m quite familiar with panic attacks so for once, I’m the expert here.” 

“I was not having a panic attack.” 

“ _Au contraire, mon ami,_ you have all the classic symptoms, heart racing, chest tightening, incapacitating fear due to circumstances you feel are beyond your control, and you, _mon biquet,”_ Sam lifted her hand to brush away the stray hairs across his face, “Are all about control.” 

“ _Merde,”_ Charles murmured and placed his hand on top of hers, turning his head to kiss her fingertips. “You know me so well.”

“As much as one can.” Sam replied, aware of the irony in his statement. “I’m surprised you haven’t freaked out sooner. Most people would under normal circumstances.”

“Yes, but we are not most people, my dear. You are exceptional.” Sam brightened at the compliment. “And I am extraordinary.” Her face fell, unamused by Charles’ smug comment.

“I’m serious,” Sam poked Charles’ cheek playfully before he clasped her wandering fingers in his, “I know how you feel about relationships and m-marriage,” The specter of Gweneth passed between them, “So I can only imagine how you feel about all this,” Sam gestured to her still flat belly. 

“I won’t deny the thought of being a husband, even a fake husband, does unsettle me.” He gave off the impression that he loathed commitment, and for the most part, none were the wiser about his truest fear and deepest desire. Although it was locked away in the deepest part of him, wrested away from the light and the truth, a part of him still wished to be a husband and a father. To do so, however, under these circumstances was far from what he ever anticipated. 

“But to be a father,” He hesitated but found himself reaching for Samara, his arm encircling her waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting his head on her chest, “I’m worried. I worry what this means for your health, the baby, what it means to put you in this position. 

“I don’t want to tie you down, to drag you through this and put you at odds with your family, your friends. I’m certain your father still wants to deport me, your brother already wants to put a stake in my chest, and I’m sure Angela would gladly roundhouse kick me in the face.” Of all of Samara’s friends, Angela was the most protective. He had witnessed some of her more aggressive moments when she nearly went after Dallas the afternoon they spent in the escape room several weeks ago. Almost a lifetime ago, it seemed.

“You’re not a vampire. And besides, my mom doesn’t want to kill you, and usually what she says, Dad follows, so that’s a plus.” Sam felt Charles relax against her as she ran her fingers through his hair, the repetitive motions calming him. “And you have never done anything without my consent, so don’t say that you’re dragging me with you. I wanted to be with you and I knew the risks. If anything, I’m dragging you with me.” Charles lifted his head in protest, only for Sam to pin him back down. “You’re always so quick to defend me, so let me stand up for you, okay, Mr. Jones?” 

If an invisible scoreboard were hanging above them it would read, **SAM: 1 | CHARLES: 0**. 

“That’s unfair and you know it, Bunty.” She knew he was particularly weak against this maneuver. In fact, it was the very one she often employed to convince him to let her spend the night or the rare occasion for him to stay. Not that he was complaining, feeling similarly to a cat underneath a sunlit window as they continued to lie together. _Ample and cozy,_ he thought contentedly.

“I told you, I’d get back at you for this morning.”  
  
“Serves me right,” Charles spoke softly, turning his head to nuzzle her breasts, “You win.”

“Focus, Jones,” Sam chided lightly as his eyes peeked at her wickedly, but immediately softened. “I’m scared too. I’m scared I’ve put you in an unfair situation, scared for the baby, all the things I’ve done without realizing I was pregnant, for not realizing something was wrong when I didn’t have my period. I mean, I’ve never had regular cycles to begin with and Dr. Ruth said it might take a couple months for my body to adjust, so I didn’t think about it but now I feel really foolish,”

“Samara,” Charles interrupted, propping himself up on his forearm, hovering over her and cupping her cheek with his palm, “Like you said, we knew the risks and we share the responsibility. I promise to support you, whatever you decide.”

“Even,” Sam had given it some thought while lying on her office couch after the boss battle with her dad, but from the moment she found out, she already knew, “Even, if that m-means I want to keep the baby?” Sam whispered, her amber eyes wide and hesitant. 

“Yes.” Charles replied, somehow simultaneously afraid and relieved. 

“Cause I don’t want you to feel obligated to support the baby financially or to be involved,” _Or to stay with me,_ “I didn’t get pregnant on purpose, and I’m not after your money, or,”  
  
“Samara,” Charles leaned down and gently bunted his forehead against hers, ceasing her ramblings, “I know. You’re none of those things. You’re earnest and true and the most kind-hearted person I know. There isn’t anyone quite like you, that’s why I,” He paused, his heart clenched tightly, ensnared by an iron chain, “I believe in you.”

She felt her heart pause when Charles did, mentally berating herself for the disappointment she felt at the words left unsaid. She should’ve been satisfied with what Charles could give her, his promise to support her and the baby. And maybe it was selfish, but she couldn’t help wanting to be a little more greedy with Charles Jones.

“We should probably get up before someone walks in.” Charles sat up, pulling Samara with him.

“That ship has sailed and you know it,” Sam countered, recalling the first time Lucy caught them together in this office. “But I suppose it won’t be too long before everyone finds out about our...new relationship status. I don’t think we can hide it much longer now that my parents know.”  
  
“You’re right,” Charles nodded. “It’s only a matter of time before Nosy Parker super-sleuths her way in and goes live with the staff.” He had to give Lucy credit, her gossip network was fairly efficient and useful from time to time when it didn’t involve his personal life, which was to his misfortune, the current target. “We can formulate a plan of attack on how to address our...m-marriage with the staff and your friends, I imagine.”

Sam imagined Angela’s reaction, not too dissimilar to her father’s earlier response to the news. “We’ll definitely need to fortify our defenses.” She wasn’t sure of the probabilities on rolling a die high enough to avoid Charles getting roasted if they went in blindly. 

“Are you still up for pho or would like something else before your raid tonight?” Charles stood, offering a hand to Samara. 

“Pho seems to be the only thing I can stomach these days.” Sam took his offered hand, helping her onto her feet. She turned to look at the unusual state of disorder on Charles’ desk from the damp towel on his keyboard to the coffee-stained papers. “Let me take a look and see if your computer is still salvageable.” Sam repeated some of Charles’ earlier attempts to turn it on before grabbing a pocket screwdriver from her work bag and opened the side panel of the computer tower. 

“Oh man, what did you do to this poor thing?” Sam sighed at the inside contents, proceeding to clean out the excess dust with an air compressor tucked into one of the bottom drawers, while examining the connections and circuitry for any additional damage. “For someone who works at a programming company, you don't take care of your equipment very well.” She grinned at Charles’ rolled eyes. 

“I know just enough to act as General Manager. Not all of us have impressive gaming rigs they’ve constructed personally.” He countered while attempting to salvage the paperwork on his desk. Granted most of it could be reprinted, sans the manila folder containing the marriage license paperwork. Charles carefully pulled the sheets apart, setting them to dry on a nearby chair. “Thank you, really. Everything’s saved to the cloud, but I would like to not start over with a new console.” He gave a weak laugh.

“It’s the least I can do.” The world might be flipped about like ships in stormy seas between their pretend marriage, her pregnancy symptoms, just being _pregnant_. It still felt unreal to her, but at least she could fall back on the one thing she knew she excelled at. When she finished, Sam hit the power button and shouted triumphantly when it turned back on. “The keyboard seems to be working for now,” Sam was able to pull up a browser and typed random words into the search bar. The towel seemed to have served its purpose and absorbed most of the coffee. “But we can exchange it with another keyboard if needed.”

“My hero,” Charles smiled. “I could kiss you right now. In fact,” he leaned down and gave Samara a quick peck on the lips. “It has been a very long day.” He rested his brow upon hers, “Let’s go home.” He wavered slightly at the words, the attachment it implied. If nothing in his computer had short-circuited, maybe his brain had. 

Sensing his unease, Sam simply kissed his cheek. “I’ll call the restaurant to place our to-go orders.” She squeezed his hand comfortingly before grabbing her bag and leaving his office. 

_“Iesu Mawr.”_ Charles cursed aloud in the empty space. Out of habit, he placed his hand in his left pocket, fingers encircling the metal band he sought. But instead of the familiar, smooth but cold, faded ring, he pulled out the platinum band and stared at it intently.

All those years he couldn’t bring himself to toss it, the last link between who he was before he fractured and who he remade himself to be now. Clearly fate had other ideas as he rolled the ring between his fingertips, but he wasn’t jarred by the dual sensation of the matte outer surface contrasted by the burnished inner band. It was different. New.

Taking a slow, cleansing breath, Charles attempted to place the ring on his finger. The headache returned, a sharp bolt of pain from the base of his skull, chest tightening, his breath hitched. Unkind memories from the first and last time he wore a wedding band, present circumstance aside, flashed harshly. He sighed irritably and put the ring back in his pocket. He would have to wear it at some point, but until he could get a better grip on himself, he would defer. For now. 

He tidied up the office to the best of his abilities and grabbed his things, locking the office door behind him. Charles found Samara waiting for him at the elevators. She gave him a thumbs up, telling him the pho would be ready for pick-up in ten to fifteen minutes as they rode down to the basement.

Exiting the parking garage, they drove in companionable silence, stopping to pick up their to-go order at Sam’s favorite pho place (the location itself was questionable, a nondescript building tucked away in a corner with sticky linoleum tiles and bad lighting. But even Charles admitted it was one of the best in the city). They parked in front of her apartment and by the time they made it up the stairs, Sam heard excited barks and scratching at her door. “Looks like someone’s happy to see you.” She laughed, watching Bowser zoom around Charles’ ankles. 

“Good to see you too, chap,” Charles greeted his kinsman with a shake and scratches behind the ears. They entered the apartment and set the food down on the coffee table, opening the containers and mixing the broth, noodles, meat and vegetables. Sitting beside each other, they ate quietly, the stillness broken with the occasional sound of slurped noodles, crunched bean sprouts and the occasional slice of beef Charles snuck to Bowser. 

“So,” they both started after finishing their bowls, “No, you first,” they shared a laugh over their awkward attempts at conversation.

“It’s surreal, isn’t it?” Sam tucked her feet beneath her on the couch. “I feel like everything’s a crazy dream and I just can’t wake up.” 

“As if I woke up in an alternative reality and my life isn’t really my life anymore.” Charles confessed, looking to the mother of his child, his _wife._

“No, I guess it isn’t. For either of us.” Sam glanced down at her stomach, turning to the father of her child, her _husband_.

“What did we get ourselves into,” Charles’ fingertips traced the outline of Samara’s ring. “I’m so sorry, Samara, I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Me neither.” Sam admitted, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or cry, her emotions in flux. “I thought we were being careful, taking all the right precautions.”

“So did I, but here we are.” He thought back to a faded memory, one he had locked far away. Something similar had happened a long time ago when all he wanted was to be a husband and a father. They were having mulligatawny soup, and it was unexpected and they were so young but he was so excited. And then it just wasn’t. And things weren’t quite the same after. Was it then when it all fell apart? “When do you think, we?” Charles trailed off, trying to figure out the timeline of conception. “It wasn’t Vegas.””

“Or the resort in Monterey.”

“The balcony? The night the power went out?”

“No, I think that was too soon. Probably not the shower.”

“Which time, I recall at least three.” Charles chuckled when Samara jabbed him in the ribs. 

“Maybe when my parents got back from Hawaii?” She remembered last having her period sometime before they returned from their trip. “Oh,” Sam looked to Charles, “That night on the rooftop?” She flushed, warmth pooling in her belly, honey-liquid and languorous, as the memory resurfaced.

\---

 _It had been several weeks since they had begun their ‘_ ** _arrangement_.'** _Sam had taken a Rider over to Charles’ apartment late one evening under the pretense of wanting to finalize some last-minute details for her software development proposal to Indigineer, claiming pre-presentation jitters. He had told her he was doing some late-night swimming to clear his head (and other adjacent body parts unbeknownst to her). But he teased her, casually suggesting she should join him on the rooftop._

_Charles was about to enter the pool when he saw the messages from Samara. He had hoped the crisp air in contrast to the heated pool would further empty his mind. Her father had just returned from Hawaii and Charles found himself needing to reinforce restraint around her._

_It was essentially second nature at this point, his ability to maintain impeccable self-control, practically impervious to temptation as long as he set his mind to it. At the start of the new year, the office held a week-long sugar-free challenge to see who could refrain from eating anything sugary sweet including coffee, soda, and energy drinks, the very lifeblood of computer programmers._

_Most of the staff had given up by day three. Charles had continued for another month, only stopping when Umed called him out on only continuing the challenge out of spite. Even when he was a child, still a mischievous kit (as his mam called him), bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, he found it incredibly satisfying learning to exact patience. He enjoyed the chase as much as the prize at the end of his hunt, savoring the proverbial cherry on top whether in his fencing matches, chess tournaments, or similar conquests in his business dealings. And his bed._

_But this particular cherry, Charles discovered was one he could not keep away from, finding himself steadily distracted just by her proximity and the memory of their earlier encounters, visions of aubergine lace, delicate wrists knotted with black silk, teeth cutting into his shoulder in attempt to temper her voice yet unable to stop herself from saying his name, breathless and reverent. Almost like a prayer._ **_Er mwyn Duw_** _, they worked alongside each other every day, and if he valued his life and livelihood, he had to maintain discipline and a respectable distance from Samara._

 **_At least while her father’s present,_ ** _Charles thought when he saw Samara’s response, indicating she was on her way. He did several sets of laps, switching from freestyle to backstroke to breaststroke. He had just completed a lap when he heard his phone ringing beside his towel. Picking up, he greeted Samara and used the new app from his building complex, allowing him to buzz her in remotely from his phone before texting the rooftop access code. Maybe he was tempting fate as he dove back underwater, but it would be foolish to deny the increasing difficulty he was experiencing with saying no to Samara Young. Minutes or moments later, there she was, standing at the edge of the pool._

_Sam had never been to the rooftop of Charles’ building, amazed at the sizable pool available to its residents. Standing at the pool’s edge, she looked up at the night sky, just barely able to see the stars diluted by the city lights. Sam returned her attention to the Welshman swimming from the opposite end. She saw him surface and used the nearby ladder to pull himself out of the water. As he walked towards her, Samara watched almost enviously how the droplets dripped down his chest and defined planes of his abdomen, wishing she could trace its path with her tongue._

_“Eyes here Samara,” Charles chided, chuckling at the bright blush across her face as he drew her attention away from the fitted swim briefs he wore. “You really should buy me dinner first one of these days. Unless you’d like to join me for a swim?”_

_“Do you swim much?” Sam sidestepped the question and wrapped her arms around her chest as a cool breeze blew past._

_“Not as much as I used to, but it’s good exercise and helps clear the mind. It does require a bit of stamina, good breathing technique and lung control.” Charles picked up the towel by Samara’s feet._

_“You’re probably very good at holding your breath for long periods of time.”_

_“If you need another demonstration…” Charles smirked, drying himself with a towel. “What brings you here tonight?”_

_“Is the pool heated?” Charles frowned when Samara avoided the question again, his vision obscured with the towel while quickly drying his hair, his back towards her._

_“Yes, but what does that have to do with,” Charles stopped mid-sentence when he turned to face Samara and saw her glasses, the oversized sweatshirt and shorts she was wearing tossed to the side. And realized there was nothing else underneath._

_“Like I said before, I’m kinda nervous about the Indigineer presentation,” it wasn’t the only thing she was nervous about, the night air prickling her bare skin as she toed off her sandals. “But I think I’ll take up your offer to clear my thoughts with a night swim.” And with that, she dove in._

_Charles stood, mouth agape, blinking rapidly while attempting to process what had just happened seconds before. He rushed to the edge of the pool, seeing Samara’s form, obscured and distorted under the water. When she surfaced, lovely and luminous in the glow of the pool lights, he felt his heart thud loudly in his chest._

_“Well, are you coming Jones?” Sam slicked back her damp hair as she looked up at him expectantly, biting her lower lip. “Or do I have to pull you in myself?” Charles wordlessly followed her command, dropping the towel at his feet before jumping in. Sam turned away from the splash, shielding her eyes. Lowering her hands, she looked around to see where Charles swam to, only to feel familiar fingers skimming across her hips and pulling her into a tight embrace._

_“When did you become this bold, Bunty?” Charles nibbled along the curve of her ear, her back flush against him, encouraged by her moans as he grasped one breast, fingertips rolling around the nipple. Samara threw her head back while he slid his tongue against the column of her neck._

_“Only with you,” Sam gasped, “Just y-you.” She reached around and tugged the back of Charles’ head, crushing his lips to hers._

_Charles released a groan when Samara deepened the kiss, her hips rolling against his growing arousal. His hands dove for her waist and quickly spun her around so she was facing him. But just as he leaned down for another kiss, she disappeared underwater and re-emerged several feet away. “Come here Samara,” Charles treaded forward as she floated away to the deeper end of the pool._

_Sam shook her head, sinking under the water until only her eyes were visible above the surface. Every time Charles moved closer, she swam away, fascinated by the hunger in his eyes, the color of darkened skies just before a lightning strike. Sam knew he could reach her in a single stroke after watching his agile form cutting through the water. But she also knew how much he enjoyed the chase._

_Suddenly, Charles vanished, his form blurred underneath the water as he shot towards Sam, swift and shark-like. She gave a nervous squeak when he surfaced, hooking an arm around her waist and drawing her towards the shallow end of the pool. Heart racing, Sam cried out as Charles bit into her shoulder, teeth grazing the skin and tracing his way up to her throat, her jaw until pulling her into another fierce kiss._

_“You know better than to run from me,” Charles lightly scolded, trailing kisses along her cheek, gently pressing her against the basin wall, “You can try to escape, but tonight,” his breath warm against the hollow of her ear, following its outline with his tongue; savoring how Samara writhed against him, “You’re mine.”_

_Sam shuddered, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, the possessiveness in his voice unlocking something deep within her, a desperate need for him to take and take her on this rooftop under the night sky. Her hands trailed down Charles’ back, nails scraping against the taut muscles, while he continued to kiss her ravenously, lips bruised and swollen but still aching for more. Sam found the waistband of his swim briefs and pulled them down around Charles’ thighs._

_He paused then, raising his head abruptly. “We should continue this downstairs,” a thread of reason wove past only to be quickly severed when Samara looked back, her eyes nearly crimson, a striking contrast amidst the growing darkness and the pool lighting. Her hands encircled his shaft and began nimbly stroking his length, building a steady rhythm, his shoulders quaking as the remainder of his restraint and reason leapt off the rooftop._

_“I want you here, Jones.” Sam demanded, enjoying how his body seemed to vibrate under her hands, her touch, her tongue as it passed over his collarbone and down his chest, “And I want you_ **_now_ ** _.” A thrill of triumph soared through her when her lips enclosed around one of his nipples, her tongue swirling around the hardening bud as he shuddered and moaned her name. Like a prayer. Like a curse._

_Charles’ hand slapped on the pool edge, fingers clasped around the discarded towel and drawing it towards him. He seized Samara’s hands, pinning them in place with one hand while tugging off his swim briefs with the other, chucking them to the side. He then picked her up and lifted her onto the towel. “Patience, Bunty,” Charles cautioned, motioning for her to lie down while bringing her hips close to the rim in line with his mouth, “We don’t want to draw too much attention up here, do we?” He smirked before placing his lips around her clit, applying light suction while his tongue spun around the bundle of nerves as his fingers made their way inside her, finding purchase in the places only he could reach._

_Sam cried out, unable to hold back the pleas and whimpers Charles seemed to feed off of as he continued his ministrations at a steady pace. The night air, her damp skin only seemed to amplify the sensations, the intense heat nearly consuming her from the circular motions of his tongue timed with his fingers inside her. But she wanted more._

_Charles stopped when he felt Samara sit up, looking at her with traces of worry. “Samara, if you’re not comfortable, we can stop-” She interrupted him with a shake of her head, surprising him when she slid back into the water._

_Gripping his shoulders, Sam wrapped a thigh around Charles’ waist, “I need you,” she reached for Charles’ hand, placing it on her hip as she brushed her entrance against his erection, “P-please.”_

_He really couldn’t say no to her. Charles captured her lips once more, grabbing the backs of her thighs and carrying her over to the inground pool steps. Once they were both seated on the middle step, their bodies half submerged in the water, Charles reached for her waist and aligned her over his tip, guiding her until he was fully sheathed within her. They stayed like this momentarily, his lips against the hollow of her throat, tracing remnants of old scars; her fingers entwined in his hair as they held each other, gently rocked by the surrounding water. Until Sam began moving against him, gyrating her hips as he thrust up into her, continuing in a relentless rhythm, racing towards an invisible edge, beat by beat. And with one final twist, Sam shouted his name as she fell, stars and white-hot sparks flooding her veins with Charles following soon after._

_\-----_

“I will say that was a first for me.” Charles confessed, thinking of the events from that night. “You really like water, don’t you Bunty?” He smirked, recalling other times involving bodies of water.

“Just as much as you enjoy semi-public areas.” Sam retorted, also recalling the times spent in his car, their offices, and the one-time utility closet. 

“I think the feeling is quite mutual, my dear.” Charles ribbed, tracing cursive patterns along her skin, not entirely realizing he was outlining the letters, ‘ **C** ,’ ‘ **S** ,’ and ‘ **J**.’ “You are certainly more persuasive than you give yourself credit for.” 

“I don’t think suggesting skinny dipping as a bonding activity would’ve won over Indigineer.”

“But they did consider our proposal to revamp their in-house system. Even if they didn’t take up our initial offer, we’re still in the running for the contract.” From what he could garner from the ongoing chatter, it was down to YoungTech versus Sontaranian Enterprises. If they were able to win the bid for the redesign, it would certainly launch their reputation within the game design community which could potentially be a considerable boon to Samara, and help her get an ‘in’ of sorts in the industry. “ _Y_ _ou_ should present this go round.”  
  
“Charles,” Sam initially balked, still apprehensive of public-speaking but not sending herself into an apoplexy unlike the first time Charles suggested she give the presentation, “I designed the proposal with you presenting.”  
  
“And clearly, my good looks and charm weren’t enough to win them over. Samara,” Charles took her hands into his, “You’ve made so much progress since we first started. I promise, I will not let anything bad happen, I’ll be right beside you. We still have time before we present to Indigineer.”

Even when she wanted to run in the opposite way, Charles had been there to push her in the right direction. Since she became his assistant, she was having a more hands-on approach, interacting with the clients instead of hiding behind emails and cubicle walls. Despite the initial proposal to Indigineer not going as planned, he reminded her there was still something worth learning from failure. 

_“What we do after we fail, learning to accept rejection is just as important as when we succeed.” Charles said encouragingly after their initial pitch to Indigineer. “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”_

_“That sounds very British.” Sam replied despondently as they drove through the rain._

_“Yes, it’s a favorite of mine from Winston Churchill. Your father had many failures before YoungTech took off. But he used those failures to drive him forward and make it what it is today. I recommend you do the same.”_

After all, wasn't it because of Ruminate’s initial failure that set her on this path? Now it was experiencing a second revival of sorts, rising from phoenix ashes and recovering from one of the lowest recorded scores on Indigineer to a steadily increasing favorable rating, thanks in part to Marshall’s second playthrough (Of course if he played it right the first time, this would be a different story altogether). And, in a sense, it also brought her and Charles closer together when he first expressed his interest and enthusiasm in her game.

From distant co-workers to fish and chips in the Snug and now, Sam had never imagined knowing him so intimately. At least in the physical sense. Sam knew as much about Charles as he was willing to share (Which if she were being honest barely filled a tea kettle). But there had been glimpses in his more vulnerable moments, peeking through glacier cracks. Maybe someday the ice would completely melt. She just had to be patient. 

“Okay. I’ll try just as long as you’re there with me.” Charles believed in her. It meant everything to her, having him in her life. And this time, she was willing to prove she was worth the trouble.

“I promise.” He laughed quietly, a half-smile at Samara’s extended pinky, recalling the first time she had asked him to pinky swear the morning after she downed the Irish coffee carafe, lying together on a make-shift bed of blankets and pillows on his bedroom floor. She was mortified and upset over her actions and despite his reassurances she hadn’t done anything wildly inappropriate (He made sure of it, when he covered her with his pajama top and held her, lulling her to sleep with a very boring passage about stock market pricing in Europe compared to the United States and quelling the lust-raged beast), she was only placatable with a pinky promise. 

_“You swear? Pinky swear?” Sam held out the small digit towards him._

_“Samara,” Charles tried to lower her extended hand, “That isn’t necessary,” sighing reluctantly when she insisted. Noting the determination on her face, he gave in to the childish gesture, linking them together with a firm shake. “I swear.”_

Charles imagined others would be shocked to learn he indulged in such kiddish behaviors, but he found it almost endearing, enjoying the simple comfort of their hands nearly but not quite linked together. Per their original agreement, they avoided holding hands in public. But there were several instances when Samara held out the small digit (usually when she was anxious in unfamiliar situations, nervously fidgeting beside him in conference rooms, meetings or teleconferences) just so, and he would loop their fingers together, giving a quick squeeze; both reassuring and calming her without drawing attention from curious eyes. It was something they shared that was just theirs. Only theirs.

He intertwined the outstretched pinky with his and gave it a shake. “I swear.” 

Sam smiled, comforted by the gesture. She looked at their digits, noticing his unadorned ring finger. “Did you ever find your old ring? I-I know it meant a lot to you.” She carefully broached the sensitive subject.

“No, it’s gone.” Charles internally grimaced, the familiar weights of melancholy and regret settling in his gut. “It might be for the best. I only held on to it to serve as a reminder of unhappy endings. The terrible things people are capable of.” Rings were meant to be symbols of faith, fidelity, and unconditional love, not tokens of misfortune and grief. With his free hand, Charles took out the platinum ring in his pocket. “It’s laughable really, I spent so much time avoiding attachments and now-”

“You’re stuck with me.” A wave of emotion suddenly surged past, engulfing Sam with sadness and heartache. “Stuck in a marriage and having a baby with someone you don’t even,” she hiccupped as a sob threatened to escape. How could she finish that sentence, when she couldn’t even put to words how she felt? “You hate marriage, and commitment, and do you hate babies too?”

“No, Samara,” Charles set the ring down on the coffee table, “Samara, look at me,” he held her shoulders firmly as she tried not to make eye contact, “Bunty, please.” His heart constricted at the glimmering tears spilling down her face. He knew he cared for Samara a great deal. But she deserved more, so much more than he could give. 

“Like you said we’re both responsible and we knew the risks, remember? You’re not alone in this. Even when we get divorced,” Charles embraced Samara when she let out a wail and launched herself into his arms (He suspected he was getting a preview of pregnancy hormone-induced mood swings, remembering how she took the news of having to file for divorce instead of an annulment much better than he did earlier in the office), “I’ll be here to support you. It isn’t fair to you, to either of us to stay married like this. You know that.” Sam nodded against his shoulder. “But I can promise to be the best fake husband I can be until then.”

“You know everyone will be out for blood when we get divorced.” Sam hiccupped again, sitting upright while Charles wiped away her tears with his handkerchief.

“I might have to look for work abroad until it’s safe for me to come back.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Sam stuck out her tongue, “You promised you’d be here to support us. So you’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“ _T_ _ouché,”_ Charles relented, getting up from the couch to get another Powergator from the pantry and bringing it to Samara, “You need to stay hydrated, can’t let yourself get dried up with those tears.”

Sam frowned, taking the Powergator from Charles. “We should probably get our stories straight, this will definitely raise some questions at The Daily Grind.” Sam wiggled her fingers, the blue-green sapphire catching the light. 

“We can go with what we told your parents,” Charles tapped the Powergator as Samara rolled eyes before taking a few sips, “We fell madly in love but had to keep our relationship secret from your father. Then decided we couldn’t wait any longer and got married in Las Vegas.” He finished, bringing two truths and a lie into play. It was a long shot, but it might seem reasonable enough they fell for each other in a whirlwind romance much like her parents, who got engaged within two weeks from when they first met. A really long shot. 

“You already know so much about me and my family, but my friends and my brother will want to know details.” Sam drank her Powergator. “Like, where was our first date?”

“The pub where you had fish and chips, and I took you out for ice cream and hot chocolate afterwards.” It was the first time he had taken her out to dinner.

“Where’s your family from?”

“Llandudno Junction, east of Conwy in Wales.”

“Oh,” Sam remembered Charles mentioning they had the best fish and chips there on their pub ‘date,’ “I didn’t know that was your hometown.” Charles had told her his mother and the rest of his extended family still lived in Wales, but hadn’t said the actual name of the town until now. “So you wanted to take me home to meet your family even then?” 

Charles flushed, traces of pink along his cheekbones, caught off-guard. “You could say it was how I knew I was serious about you. That you would be someone important to me.” It was one of his rarer moments, talking about his hometown with Samara and imagining her alongside him while showing her the places he once frequented growing up. 

It was now Sam’s turn to blush. If there was a half or a whole-truth there, she wasn’t sure. And if so, did she really want to? “The first time you knew you loved me?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Carmel-by-the-Sea after our business trip to Monterey.”

Sam’s eyes widened. It was the first weekend since her dad returned from Hawaii they were able to get away, just the two of them spending time together without worrying about running into her highly intuitive family and their protective eyes hovering nearby. After wrapping up with the clients, they spent the rest of the day exploring the city, visiting the aquarium, driving down to the beach, a candlelit dinner, the soaking tub in their suite.

“We were walking along the beach and the sun was setting. We were close to the waves, but you didn’t mind the cold because I was there to keep you warm.” Charles smiled at the memory, Samara holding onto his arm as they walked down the shore, watching the sunset while the waves washed over their ankles. “Then a strong one passed, soaking us up to our knees. You almost lost your balance,”

“But you caught me, like you always do.” Sam replied, remembering how she felt in that moment, safe and so warm she barely felt the cold seeping into her clothes, how Charles looked at her then. How he was looking at her now. She reached up, fingertips grazing his cheek. “Even now.” 

Charles was brought back to that moment with the exact words Samara had used then, leaning into her touch. “I didn’t want you to catch cold, I’d never hear the end of it from your father if you had gotten sick.” How she looked at him, gentle auburn eyes filled with affection and trust; a quiet, unwavering faith he didn’t think he was entitled to, but she still freely gave. He should have ended it then, she was getting too close. But just like every other time he thought about walking away, to guide her sentiments elsewhere, he found himself drawn back to her warmth, her kindness, her light. 

“But you didn’t want to miss the sunset, so we stayed there huddled close as the sun disappeared, everything fading into golden light,” Charles lowered his head as Samara leaned closer, “And I looked at you,” his lips hovered over hers, “And that’s when I knew I...”

The ringtone on Sam’s phone blared loudly, bringing them back to the present. Sam saw it was from Angela, looked at Charles apologetically, and answered, knowing that if she let it go to voicemail Angela would just keep calling until she answered or kicked down her front door. While she was talking to Angela about tonight’s raid, Sam noticed Bowser approach Charles, his leash firmly between his teeth and looking up at him expectantly. 

Charles took the leash, clipping it to Bowser’s collar and getting up from the couch. He could use the walk to cool off and reorganize his thoughts. Silently waving to Samara, the two Welshmen left the apartment and headed to the nearby dog park. _‘Get a grip, Jones,’_ he scolded himself, running his hands through his hair, smoothening the wayward strands. 

He only mentioned the business trip to Monterey because it seemed like a reasonable explanation to when he fell in love with Samara, lending credence to their supposed whirlwind romance. Weekend getaway, gorgeous views, candlelit dinners and aquarium dates, walks along the beach and spending time away. Alone. Together. It was practically soaked in romance, not unlike the cherries jubilee he ordered from room service and dripped down Samara’s body as they lay in front of the fireplace-

Charles slapped his cheeks, he was supposed to be cooling off, _g_ _o ddrapia._ He needed to get a better hold on himself and his feelings. Or lack of feelings, ‘cause there weren’t feelings. He dragged his hand down his face at the pathetic excuses he was making for himself. Sweet _Iesu_ what was wrong with him? He had heard of pregnancy brain, but did it affect the partners too? 

He could admit that he cared for Samara deeply, but anything beyond that? He told her lies were easier to tell as long as there was some truth in them. But who was he trying to fool, everyone else around them, or himself? It wasn’t something he was ready or willing to answer. 

By the time Charles and Bowser returned, Sam had just finished her conversation with Angela. “There’s my guys,” she said offhandedly with a grin as Bowser ran up to her happily wagging his stumpy tail. “Sorry about that, Angela wanted to talk about the raid and dish a little about her last date with Link.”  
  
Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones or the general craziness of the past week, but Charles imagined a status bar above his head similar to playing Bash Bros with Samara, his HP levels increasing at the words, _my guys._ “I’m surprised they kept it secret for as long as they did.” Samara had told him how Link and Angela had started dating sometime after they started sleeping together, but Angela was concerned how she would react to the news so they kept it hidden. If they only knew. “But I guess we don’t have room to talk.” 

“I asked Angela and Vikki to meet me at The Daily Grind tomorrow to tell them the news.” Sam gestured to her ring. “Will you come with me?”  
  
“I imagine they’ll hunt me down otherwise if I’m not by your side.” Charles said, ignoring the initial knee-jerk reaction to decline or imply he was unavailable. He did promise to be the best fake husband he could be. “What time?”

“Around 9.” Sam glanced at the wedding band still on her coffee table. “I can hold onto your ring until then.”

Charles walked over to the coffee table and picked up the metal band, rolling it between his fingers. He promised, didn’t he? He walked back to Samara and handed it to her. “I might need your help with this,” and held out his hand triggering the shared memory of exchanging rings between them. 

“Are you sure?” Sam inquired, noticing the slight tremors in Charles’ offered hand.

“Might as well get used to it. Now or never, dear.” 

Sam slipped the ring onto Charles’ finger and held his hand in hers. They stood together in silence for several moments before she looked up and half-grinned. “Still fits.”

“Hasn’t melted off either.” He joked weakly. The sensation of a wedding ring back on his hand was foreign, but he hadn’t broken out into hives or needlessly overreacted. Much like when he last wore it in Las Vegas, it didn’t weigh him down like a stone, but it was just...different. “I think I’ll head back so you can get ready for your raid. I might turn in early with a hot shower and some rest.” He considered unwinding with a glass of whisky and another puzzle game Samara had recommended. “I’ll be here before 9, don’t stay up too late,” 

“I know, cause I need my rest for the baby,” Sam shook her head at Charles’ mothering while walking him to her door. “Drive safe.” 

Charles crouched down to give one last shake and belly rub to Bowser before returning to Samara and kissing her goodnight. He sensed she wanted to make up for their earlier interruption, as she deepened the kiss, her arms (and tongue) entwined around him. Charles idly debated staying a little longer, hands moving underneath her jacket, her blouse, enjoying the little quivers he felt when he found the bare skin he sought, fingertips running up and down her spine. Reluctantly, he withdrew. “You don’t want to miss your raid, Bunty.” Seeing her pout, he gave one more goodnight kiss. “I’ll make it up to you later. Good luck on your quest.”

After Charles left, Sam locked the door and proceeded to get ready for the raid. She changed into her comfy pajamas and turned on her computer, ready to meet up with her guild and kick some Orc tail, comforted by the normalcy of it. It had been an hectic day to say the least, and although she hoped things would finally settle after today’s dramatic turn of events, she had a suspicion they were only getting started. 

\---

_Pick me up, up off the floor_

_Put me in my place, put me in my place_

_Every stumble and each misfire_

_I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more_

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
>  French:  
>  _Au contraire, mon ami_ = On the contrary, my friend  
>  _Mon biquet_ = my kidd/goat  
>  _Merde_ = shit
> 
> Welsh:  
>  _Iesu Mawr_ = Jesus Christ  
>  _Er mwyn Duw_ = For God's sake  
>  _go ddrapia_ = Dammit


	6. Starving | Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So no one told you life was gonna be this way? While Charles’ job isn’t a joke, and he’s not broke, but he might be DOA in the chapter where everyone finds out. But don’t worry, even if it hasn’t been his day, his week or month (or even year?), Sam will be there for him. Even when the rain starts to pour or he’s at his worst, he knows it’s better with her (Even if he isn’t ready to admit it. Yet).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever and always thanks to my beta/twin/soul sis/eagle to my bambi/strawberry jam to my peanut butter IntotheGallifrey for helping me with my....*whispers* most explicit chapter to date (Insert standard warning for Mature/Explicit Content) many pearls were clutched o(>_< )o (Also if you can name all the fandom references, 100 pts to Hufflepuff!)

\---

**_You know just what to say_ **

**_Shit, that scares me, I should just walk away_ **

**_But I can't move my feet_ **

_ The more that I know you, the more I want to _

_ Something inside me's changed _

_ I was so much younger, yesterda y _

\---

Sam chewed on her thumbnail, a nervous habit she carried throughout her life. She had taken Bowser out for his walk, showered, dressed, and nibbled on some saltines in between sips of ginger ale to offset the morning nausea that had seemed to improve, but was still present. After the raid (successfully another step closer to endgame thanks to a last-minute approved assist from Marie as a guest guild member), Sam slept fitfully, not from anxiety about telling her best friends that not only was she sleeping with her boss, drunkenly married him in Vegas, got caught by her dad, and to round off the drama, discovered she was pregnant. 

No, she had been experiencing heat flashes, waking up drenched in sweat and unbearably hot. She had to replace her soaked bed sheets, shower twice, and sleep naked but still had difficulty falling asleep. Even with the AC set at the lowest temperature, she felt like she was back in the scorching desert heat of Las Vegas. 

Naturally she was prone to being cold easily, so it was a struggle trying to find an outfit amongst her cardigans and sweaters and hoodies that she could wear comfortably, but also not draw too much attention from the lack of layers. Maybe she was being paranoid, but if anyone would notice a change, even one as subtle as her wardrobe choices, it would be her friends. Then again, it wasn’t until their trip to Las Vegas that Vikki picked up on her and Charles, while Angela remained in the dark. Maybe she was just overthinking things, she thought to herself after deciding on a simple burgundy wrap dress and thin black cardigan. They would certainly be in for the shock of their lives when she’d arrive at The Daily Grind with Charles and ring in, well, on her hand.

Sam looked to the door and then her phone which displayed  **08:45** , awaiting Charles’ arrival. She had just spoken with her mom about planning a dinner party with Jay-Jay and Ruth and her friends, to celebrate her marriage since they were unable to attend the wedding. She wasn’t sure yet whether to tell everyone she was pregnant, but after talking to her mom, she decided to at least wait until her first OB visit, following her appointment with Dr. Ruth on Monday. She hadn’t gone into full Poogle deep-dive mode, but her mind whirred with questions from what was safe to eat during pregnancy, to first trimester symptoms, to where she was going to put a crib in her apartment. She told Charles she wanted to keep the baby and the responsibility that came with it, but it was daunting to consider that she would be in charge of another person, another life. She had Bowser, but puppies and babies were on complete opposite ends of the spectrum. 

Sam smiled when she saw Bowser scamper up to the door, yapping excitedly when she got a text message indicating Charles had just arrived. Finishing her saltines and placing the ginger ale on the counter, Sam opened the door while Charles kneeled to pet Bowser. She never got tired of seeing him in casual clothes, dark blue skinny jeans, navy jumper, glasses and tousled hair. “ _ Bore da,  _ Charles,” Sam greeted him, secretly pleased how he brightened whenever she spoke Welsh.

“ _ Bore da,  _ Bunty,” Charles stood and kissed her forehead. Glancing at her attire, he raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure you won’t be cold Samara?”

“I might just leave the cardigan.” Sam shrugged it off, heat spreading throughout her body, “I barely slept last night, I kept having hot flashes, and was so sweaty I had to sleep naked.”

A brief image of Samara sprawled across the bed, enticingly bare skin glistening with sweat flitted past before Charles brushed it away. “That sounds quite unpleasant.” He assumed the sleep deprivation was getting to him, having also spent the night tossing and turning. He could almost hear the devil on his shoulder hissing,  _ “LIAR!” _

“Yeah, I still feel really warm,” Sam fanned herself, “I read that nausea and hot flashes can happen during the first trimester, shifting hormones and everything.”

“Well let’s bring it just in case,” Charles recommended, his protective instincts emerging, “Are you ready?” Sam nodded, grabbing her things and waving goodbye to Bowser. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear the cardigan? It is cooler out, and-be careful,” Charles stepped forward, catching Sam’s elbow when she almost missed a step on the way down.

“Charles,” Sam sighed at his insistence that she hold onto his arm while walking down the last flight of stairs, “I’m fine. I’m pregnant, not bedridden.” She joked before they ran into Marshall at the bottom step.

Marshall stood immobilized, his face stone-like and gray, as if all the color were drained out of him.  _ Status Ailment:  _ **_Petrified_ ** _!  _ He was immediately roused when Sam prodded his shoulder.  _ Ariadne casts ‘ _ **_Esuna’_ ** _! All ailments cured! _

“Marshall?” She asked, wondering how much he had heard. Maybe he missed her saying-

“PREGNANT?” Marshall looked between Sam and Charles, “When did this happen? Wait,” Marshall recalled the evening Sam had spent hugging his toilet. “So not bad Chinese food then,” Sam shook her head before he groaned exasperatedly. “How many more of your secrets do I have to keep? Oh don’t deny it, he’s clearly the father,” he pointed an accusatory finger before Sam or Charles could protest, as if silenced by his authoritative aura enhanced by the word,  **_‘OBJECTION_ ** !’ hanging above the trio. “The walls aren’t exactly soundproof.”

“Just this  _ one _ ,” Sam pleaded. “We’re actually meeting up with Vikki and Angela to tell them what happened in Vegas.”

“Her parents found out,” Charles explained upon seeing the confusion on Marshall’s face, “So we’re still pretending for now. The pregnancy was a surprise for both of us.”

“So you’re really?” Marshall gestured to his stomach, his hand making a rounded motion while Sam nodded. “But you’re still getting divorced?” Both Sam and Charles nodded. “How many signs does the universe need to throw at you two, like that doesn’t make any sense-”

“As much as I would like to continue this conversation, we are running late to meet Samara’s friends,” Charles tugged Sam forward, maneuvering around the topic and Marshall.

“Please, just keep this secret for now?” Sam turned to reach back and place her hand on Marshall’s bicep. “My parents will be hosting a dinner party next weekend where we’ll tell everyone then, you can bring Monica.”

Marshall nearly flinched, somehow Sam’s puppy-pout was ten-times more powerful than the last time he was subjected to it. “Fine, fine,” he relented, “Can I at least tell Mon? Her flight arrives tomorrow-” 

Sam shook her head, “No, not until I see her first.” She gave a sheepish grin when Marshall conceded with another reluctant groan. “Last secret, promise, thanks again!” Sam relinquished his upper arm while she and Charles continued their way towards The Daily Grind.

“Famous last words,” Marshall muttered as he made his way back to his apartment, curious as to what other shenanigans the daring duo would pull him into next. A long-lost twin? Charles finding out he’s royalty from an obscure, faraway kingdom? Someone hitting their head and having amnesia? Being kidnapped and held hostage by a secret society of supervillains wanting to take over the world?

“Poor Marshall,” Sam felt a little guilty springing another big secret on her neighbor, “He doesn’t have the best timing does he?” She glanced up at Charles. She was still holding onto his arm and he made no attempts to remove her hand.

“The same could be said about us, my dear. We’ve gotten ourselves in a bit of trouble, haven't we?” Charles mused when they arrived at The Daily Grind. 

“Better with two than facing it alone.” Sam peered through the glass doors, seeing her friends inside. “Thank you for being here.”

“Of course,” Charles’ hand covered the fingertips resting on his arm, giving them a comforting squeeze, “Ready?” Sam gave a firm nod as they entered the coffee shop.

“Hey Sam!” Dee waved, noticing how her college roommate and her boss, the British dude (Chris, Christian,  _ Charles _ she remembered) entered the shop  _ together _ with Sam releasing  _ his _ arm to wave back. She had just finished taking Vikki and Angela’s coffee orders. Vikki was still debating if she wanted a pastry (she was torn between her mom’s blueberry muffins or a cranberry scone) while Angela was busy flirting with Link behind the counter. Dee was glad they had finally gone public with their relationship, she was done with being smacked upside by the floaty hearts that surrounded Link whenever Angela visited (the dude was practically purring while Angela played with his apron straps). 

_ Huh,  _ Dee observed Charles standing behind Sam, hands in his pockets while she approached the counter. She remembered the few instances he came to meet with Sam or the Saturday he took The Rare Spawns to an escape room and prevented Angela from obliterating Dallas. Granted, the guy wasn’t her type, but Dee could appreciate the way he filled out a pair of jeans. “The usual?” Dee asked Sam, ready to ring up her typical order (Vanilla latte, skim milk, extra shot).

“Maybe just decaf?”

Dee abruptly paused, her eyes glued to Sam. This caught Vikki’s attention as well, turning away from the pastries, while Link and Angela remained clueless and unaware. There would be only one reason Sam would ever switch beverages, affirmably in the Death before Decaf camp. 

“Trying to cut back on your caffeine intake?” Link responded obliviously, reluctant to step away from Angela while he grabbed the decaf beans under the counter.

“Something like that, excessive amounts of caffeine aren’t good for your health, stunted growth and other things,” Sam answered blithely, trying not to wither under Dee’s fixed gaze. “Maybe an Earl Grey latte?”

“Earl Grey? What, is English rubbing off on you?” Angela teased when she saw Charles standing nearby, laughing at his immediate response, the irritation across his face. Sam still hadn’t admitted whether she was interested in Charles, but after watching their interactions during StormCon weekend, it seemed to extend beyond professional. And granted he was...polite and about as warm as the arctic tundra, but it was her due diligence as one of Sam’s best friends to tease the guy wanting to date her. “I didn’t think you’d give up coffee for anything, except-”

Three sets of eyes noticed something bright, the light catching on Sam’s hand. A  _ very sparkly something  _ on Sam’s hand. 

Their voices came all at once. Dee looked back, eyes widening, “You’re?” She exclaimed, looking from Sam’s stomach to her ring (An engagement ring!). “When?” Vikki asked. “How?” Angela shouted, grabbing Sam’s left hand to examine the sapphire surrounded by a halo of diamonds. “Him?” All three yelled simultaneously, referring to Charles who attempted to cover his ears, the platinum band on his left hand in full view.

“What?” Link had just finished steaming the milk for Sam’s latte when he heard the commotion. “Are you guys okay?” His expression was blank upon seeing Angela holding up Sam’s hand, the sapphire ring glittering brightly. It wasn’t that long ago he attempted dating Sam, only to realize he could only care for her as a sister (and recognize his true feelings for Angela). But it was still a shock to see Sam...engaged? His eyes flickered to Charles, Sam’s boss. That guy?  _ Him _ ?

Sam released a quick breath. She had hoped to keep the baby a secret, but she supposed the switch to decaf was an obvious giveaway. It was probably better for them to find out all at once. “Do you remember when we went to Vegas? And that Charles and I got there the day before you arrived?” She looked at their shocked expressions. Vikki appeared to be the least surprised, but Sam assumed it was because she already knew about Charles. Just minus the married part. 

“Sam, really?” Angela let go of her hand, discovering she was disappointed that not only her best friend had eloped, but a Las Vegas wedding? It seemed like something out of a cheesy romance movie with a terrible plot. And although Sam hadn’t been interested in romance or dating until recently, it was one of those unspoken things where if Sam got married, maybe she’d ask her and Vikki to be her bridesmaids. At least, she assumed. “How long have you been seeing each other? When did you even start dating?” 

“Right around the time my parents left for Hawaii.” Sam replied. “W-we’ve worked together for over a year, but we started spending more time together and something changed and we…” Sam felt Charles’ hand around her waist, smiling at the contact, how his fingertips pressed firmly into her hip. “We fell in love.” She looked up at him with such gentleness, she hoped her presumed sincerity would outweigh their skepticism.  _ Two truths and a lie.  _

“I do apologize for keeping our relationship secret,” Charles told Samara’s friends who remained in stunned silence. Charles was also surprised at the emotion he felt from the tenderness in her eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost believe it was genuine. “We felt it was best to keep it hidden for now, but then, that night.” He recalled the few memories that survived from their drunken escapades, “I didn’t want to spend another minute without her...as my wife.” He was astonished how easily the words came. But he did say them once, long ago when he was young and a fool.  _ Two truths and a lie.  _

“So we got married.” Sam finished, a light blush tinged her cheeks, warmth spreading down her neck and even her ears. She was also surprised by Charles’ words. If they weren’t pretending, she could almost believe he was telling the truth. 

“I know how crazy your dad is, so I get why you had to keep it secret,” Angela eyed them a bit suspiciously. “But it’s so sudden, I mean it wasn’t that long ago you had nosebleeds just thinking about sex!” Sam went from pink to cranberry red, while Angela began to pace, shock giving way to disbelief and frustration. “You’ve never had a boyfriend, and now you’re married? To Ice King here?” She gestured at Charles, then suddenly paused, her eyebrows knit tightly. 

“What did you do?” She glared darkly, the embers of rage stoked below the surface as various scenarios ran through her mind. “If you did anything to force her or hurt her...”

“I didn’t and I wouldn’t.” Charles replied adamantly, reigning in the snap of temper threatening to strike, frosted eyes meeting blazing viridian. “I do not appreciate the accusation Ms. O’Neill. I understand your concern and I am well aware of how deeply you care for Samara, all of you,” He addressed everyone at the counter, “We can agree she may be naive and inexperienced,” Charles held Samara closer, ceasing her objections, “But it is one of her many endearing qualities. She is kind and brilliant and so much more than I deserve.

“I will not argue that our actions seem hasty, but I meant what I said, and,” Charles paused when Samara turned, encircling one arm around his waist and the other resting across his abdomen, standing resolutely at his side. Once again, unexpectedly moved by the simple gesture, he placed a small kiss on her forehead before locking eyes with his most vocal opponent. “I will cherish her for as long as she’ll have me. Whether you choose to believe me or not is entirely up to you. But for Samara’s sake, I hope you will respect her decision.” Charles and Angela remained in a silent stalemate, sharp gazes cutting into the other, neither unwilling to back down. 

Until Vikki broke the rising tension by clapping her hands loudly. “All right, I think everyone should take a breather so we don’t scare any incoming customers.” Thankfully it was just the six of them in the coffee shop. She asked for a blueberry muffin from Dee, who told Link to finish making the girls’ orders and asked what Charles wanted to drink. While Charles gave his order (Coffee, black), Vikki pulled both Angela and Sam to the side, their hands clasped together. 

“It might take some time for all of us to adjust now that you’re a married woman,” Vikki squeezed Sam’s hand, “But are you happy, Sam?” Sam smiled and nodded her head, her auburn hair now brushing past her shoulders. “And do you love him?” 

_ There it is, _ Vikki felt it in that half-second of hesitation, the hidden truth even Sam had yet to address within herself. Much like Angela, she was unsure about the circumstances surrounding Charles and Sam getting married but she had some inklings, thinking back to her poolside conversation with Marshall. However, unlike her roommate, Vikki sensed their feelings were genuine. Even if they weren’t ready to acknowledge them outside of the context of their  _ ‘marriage _ .’

“I do.” Sam replied, the same determination on her face when she stood beside Charles during his standoff with Angela. And there it was again. The unfamiliar hum she felt before, Vikki could see it, how it wove around Sam, gossamer threads merging and stretching until it settled around Charles while he made polite conversation with Dee and Link. It almost shimmered. Like gold. 

_ Oh what tangled webs we weave,  _ Vikki mused, smiling gently. “Then that’s all that matters. Right Angela?” Vikki asked, tugging on her hand.

Angela huffed and looked away, her eyes downcast. “It’s just a lot to take in. And I’m still mad at you for not telling us. Sam, we’re your best friends, don’t you trust us?”

“Of course,” Sam reached for Angela, refusing to let go when she tried to shake her off. “I just wasn’t ready and I,” she trailed off, glancing over at Charles, her heart quickening when his eyes momentarily caught hers before he responded to a question from Dee, “I sorta liked how it was just  _ us _ , and  _ only  _ for us to know.” She looked at Angela, her eyes apologetic.

Angela could feel the tenuous grasp on her anger weakening, unable to form a counterargument. Wasn’t that her reasoning for keeping her relationship with Link secret? Well almost. “I might need more time to process. But if you’re happy with him,” she weakly shrugged in acquiescence. 

“I understand and yeah, I’m happy.” Sam pulled her friends into a conciliatory shared hug. “I am really sorry you guys weren’t there, but my parents are having a party next weekend to celebrate if you can make it.”

“Of course, just promise you’ll invite us next time if you decide to get married again.” Angela teased while Sam agreed with a nod. “What made you change your mind to tell us now if you’ve been keeping it secret all this time?”

Before Sam could respond, Charles walked over with their drinks and several pastries on a serving tray, including Vikki’s blueberry muffin. “Dee recommended some ginger tea with lemon,” Charles offered the paper cup to Sam.

“For morning sickness?” Vikki said, grabbing her chai latte and blueberry muffin, tearing off a piece for Sam. “Blueberries are also high in folate, fiber, and vitamin C. Good for developing minds.”

Angela’s jaw dropped. 

“She just figured it out?” Charles handed Angela her mocha latte and a cranberry scone. She accepted them mutely. There may have been a misaligned cog in her brain rendering her unable to respond.

“Yep.” Vikki sipped her tea, guiding Angela to sit down on a nearby couch. She hoped that was all the drama in store for today, unsure whether her roommate could take any more surprises.

\---

Following the confrontation at the coffee shop, the remainder of their Saturday morning was uneventful with a return trip to the dog park for Bowser and a quiet late lunch at Sam’s apartment. Possibly too quiet, as they ate in silence (the baby actually wanted tacos this time) while Sam went over the conversation (really interrogation) with High Inquisitor Angela about their romance and events leading to their subsequent marriage; particularly regarding Charles’ response to a question neither of them had considered while going over their prepared answers yesterday. 

“Did you mean what you said?” Sam nervously tore into her napkin after wiping off the remnants of her carnitas. “About moving in together? I know we’re pretending, but you didn’t have to-”

“I meant it.” Charles admitted before eating his steak taco in small, measured bites (Sam found herself annoyed how Charles could make eating something as messy as tacos look refined). “It would appear odd for us not to be living together, given that we are married and having a child.”   
  
“That’s very logical.” Why was she upset? Given the circumstances, it would look peculiar if they weren’t living together, and it was a sound choice if they were going to continue this charade. So why did it bother her that Charles had made the decision without her input?

“You’re upset.” Charles’ observation only seemed to aggravate her more as Sam bit on her straw while sipping her sparkling lemon water. “Was that not what you wanted? I assumed it was the best choice since I have more than enough room, and my complex allows dogs and you can save the money you would’ve used for rent towards the baby-”

“You could’ve asked me first.” Sam retorted. “Did it occur to you that maybe I don’t want to live with you and I enjoy having my own space? That I wasn’t planning on moving out even with the baby. I can take care of myself, and I don’t need rescuing Charles-” Sam immediately fell silent when Charles pulled a key out of his pocket.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Charles placed the key on the kitchen bar, the true source of his sleepless night. It was his spare key and it had sat forgotten and unused in a throwaway kitchen drawer (That’s what his mam called it, the drawer where all the odd bobbins and bands and things that didn’t have a proper place ended up). He debated all night whether to give it to Samara, coming up with various reasons (Not just out of obligation to provide for the woman bearing his child) why they should live together. 

Yes, Samara was an independent adult. He encouraged it (Even now, he was proud of her for standing up to him). But now that she was pregnant, was it so terrible he wanted to make sure she was taking care of herself? She had terrible sleeping habits, staying up until 4am working on Evermake or playing the special edition expansion pack she obtained from StormCon. Sometimes when she was engrossed in her work, she’d forget to eat or drink. Or what if something happened and she was alone and needed help and he was on the other side of the city? Wouldn’t it be better for her to stay with him? At least that’s what he assumed. Which was apparently the wrong move, now that he was on the receiving end of Samara’s death glare. 

“What is this?” Sam picked up the key, eying it cautiously.

“I meant to give it to you later today, but Ms. O’Neill forced my hand.” Charles gave a wan smile. “I know you’re perfectly capable Samara, I just,” he looked away, suddenly self-conscious, “I want to take care of you.” Her eyes widened, “And the baby,” he added, his ears burning. “Both of you. And not because I’m your fake husband,” could he be more of a dithering idiot? “I thought it would be a little easier to help get to your prenatal appointments, prepare for the baby’s arrival, or anything you needed if I was in the other room and not across town.” 

Charles was unable to diminish the disappointment he felt when Samara left the kitchen bar and went into her room. Did he really mess it up that badly? He continued to mentally berate himself until she returned with a small paper bag.

“I meant to give this to you too,” Sam handed Charles one of the matching keychains she bought at StormCon.

He smiled at the cartoonish figure, “It almost looks like Bowser dressed as the-”

“ _ Y Ddraig Goc,”  _ Sam replied, revealing the other keychain, this time with the spare key attached. Charles hid his reaction behind his expansive palm. It was nearly impossible to extinguish the burning sensation spreading from his ears to his cheekbones. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It reminded me of the times my family would make decisions for me out of concern for my well-being without really asking what I wanted.”

“Samara, you don’t have to move in with me if you want to stay here.” Charles withheld himself from reaching for her, it would’ve been for his comfort, not hers. “I should’ve asked you first, but I, I just-” He ceased his rambling when Samara wrapped her arms around his neck. He laid his head on her shoulder and silently relished the contact he secretly craved. 

“Yes.” Sam leaned against him. “I’ll move in with you.” She giggled when Bowser barked in reply. “Sorry, we’ll move in with you.” 

“...Are you certain?”

“You’re not getting it back.” The keychain jingled between Sam’s fingers. “We might need some help to move my things.” 

“That can be arranged.” Charles sat up, his arms loosely draped around her waist, “How many more of these surprise talks do you think we’ll have to go through? First your parents, then your friends.” He laughed at Samara’s reddened cheeks. “There’s no shame in being so well loved, Samara.”

“What about you?”

“My family’s back in Wales.” He imagined he’d have to inform his mother at some point, but not in the immediate future. He hoped.

“No, I mean here. Do you have any friends or anyone that needs to know?

“No.” Charles confessed. “I...I don’t.” With work and spending his off time either fencing or as an escape room consultant, he didn’t exactly have close friends. Casual acquaintances at best. He had left what remained of his old world behind and ran to the opposite end of the earth, far from the gray seas, dirt roads and rocky hills of Wales to the concrete high rises and superficiality of southern California.  _ On my own...because there’s no one else.  _

He preferred it, having used the excuse of being a foreigner needing to learn how to adjust to life in the United States to keep others at a distance. And after several years, he finally settled and established a fairly predictable but solid routine. He performed admirably at his job, lived in a three-story apartment where space was a luxury and he could travel anywhere, do anything, find companionship whenever the mood suited him, deposits and transactions easily made.

But he was alone. 

It suddenly felt empty and cold. Success, wealth, and in the prime of his life. And it really didn’t amount to anything did it? The solitude was a much needed respite to allow the gaping wound of his grief and anger to slowly heal. But it all faded in comparison to the woman in his arms, warm, real and vital.

“How do you think your mom will respond?” Sam bent close, resting her forearms on his chest. He was alone and far from home and she just wanted to give him a hug if only to assure him with her presence.  _ There’s me. _

“I think she’ll adore you.” He answered truthfully. “Which may or may not be in my favor. I imagine it’ll be the surprise of her life when she discovers I’ve taken her advice and found myself a wife with a baby on the way.” Sensing her confusion, he explained, “She’s been strongly hinting I settle down and bring home a nice girl for Christmas. Although,” he smirked, “I would argue you are the most troublesome one I’ve met.” 

Sam leaned back, linking her arms behind Charles’ neck. “But still worth the trouble?” Her apprehension melted when he brushed his thumb across her cheek, gently cupping her face.

“Always, Bunty,” he kissed her, returning the smile he felt across his lips, “Always.” 

\---

Sam sat in the examination room with her hands folded in her lap, awaiting the results of a test she already knew the answer to, but would be assured to find out regardless. Hearing the knock on the door, she bade the person entry, relieved to see Dr. Ruth in the doorway.

“Don’t worry,” Ruth winked at her boyfriend’s baby sister, “He’s busy giving a Grand Rounds presentation, he was invited to speak at a nearby hospital, which I clearly did not recommend him for a few weeks ago.” Sam was already scheduled to meet with Ruth for a three-month follow-up after prescribing her birth control and felt it would’ve been easier on them both if Jay happened to not be in the same facility during her visit. Jay was well-intentioned, but there were some things big brothers had no business knowing. Especially given the nature of Sam’s visit today. 

“I have your test results.” Ruth sat across from Sam and logged into her work laptop, pulling up Sam’s file. “And you are definitely pregnant.” She looked up, trying to gauge Sam’s reaction. Some patients were shocked, excited, upset or had no reaction whatsoever. Sam may have been a mix of all the above, trying to keep a neutral expression while biting her lower lip, brow knitted tightly. “How are you feeling?”

Sam sighed and stared at the ceiling tile. “Nauseous.” She wrung her hands while shielding her engagement ring from view. “Nervous.” She considered taking off her gray cardigan when a trickle of sweat ran down her spine. “And hot, just really hot sometimes?” 

“All normal signs during the first trimester, unfortunately.” Ruth gave a sympathetic smile. “I can definitely prescribe some vitamin B6 and Unisom to help with the nausea, but also recommend small meals when tolerated and staying hydrated. When was your last period-”

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurted, her voice breaking, “I thought I followed all of your instructions but I clearly messed up, and I feel like I failed you and I don’t want you to get in trouble with Jay-”

“Sam,” Ruth spoke gently, “First of all, what goes on between you and me as your provider stays between us unless you choose to share that information or in an emergency. That includes Jay, and believe me, if he thinks he has a say about  _ my  _ patients in  _ my  _ practice without  _ my  _ permission, he’s got another thing coming.

“Birth control pills are 99% effective with perfect use, but have about a 10% failure rate with average use. We knew it would be a challenge at first since you’ve never had regular periods to begin with. And you’d be amazed at the number of surprise babies that pop up in practice.” Ruth thought back to her Family Medicine residency when she assisted a delivery where the baby came out clutching the patient’s IUD, though that was one of her rarer cases. “It happens, trust me.” Ruth gave Sam’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “The important thing is how you feel about the pregnancy.”

“I’m keeping the baby.” Sam responded, answering Ruth’s following questions about her health and safety. When Ruth asked if the father was involved, Sam took a quick breath and untucked her hands, “He is and actually I was going to ask-” 

“How did I not notice this before?” Ruth exclaimed, admiring the glittering stones on Sam’s ring finger. “When did this happen?” 

When Sam wanted to talk about birth control, Ruth was curious as to who Sam’s partner was, but was pleasantly surprised to learn that it was Sam’s boss, the hunky Brit who brought her to get her hand fixed. Her eyes widened and jaw dropped slightly as Sam relayed the events from getting married in Vegas to finding out they were pregnant, her parents finding out, and the party they were hosting on Saturday to break the news to Jay. To which Ruth swore absolute secrecy under patient confidentiality (Plus she thrived off the drama and wondered what Jay's reaction would be, recalling his last face-off with Charles, mentally fanning herself). 

Ruth did a quick mental calculation. “If I had to guess, you might be 6-7 weeks along? You must have gotten pregnant right away.” Following a negative pregnancy test, Ruth had instructed Sam to start taking the pills with condoms for backup during the first week, but Sam did confess there were a few times they didn’t. “Did you already stop taking your birth control pills?” Sam nodded. She had tossed them as soon as Charles left her place the day her father found out. “How often were you having sex?” Ruth inquired, genuinely curious.

“Maybe,” Sam paused, making some mental calculations of her own, averaging work nights and weekends, “Two to three times?”

“A week?”

“...A day?”

“Damn girl.” Ruth laughed, giving Sam a fist-bump. “He got the goods huh?”

\---

Meanwhile, during Sam’s appointment, Charles was undergoing an evaluation of a different kind from his (reluctant as he was to admit it) father-in-law. 

“Jones.”

“Sir.”

The two men continued to stare at each other for several minutes. Until Samuel received a text message notification from Samantha urging him to be courteous with his (as unwilling as he was to accept it) son-in-law. Samuel huffed, pressing his knuckles to his brow.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Samuel begrudgingly broke the silence, “I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge how much Sam has grown since she became your assistant. I know it took a lot of courage for her to stand up to me, especially when I was ready to wring your neck.” He grit his teeth at the memory when he discovered he was to be a grandfather. “And it’s true, she’s taken more of an interest in the business and I suppose that’s, in part, thanks to you.

“But if you hurt my daughter in any shape or form,” Samuel loomed menacingly, dark shadows casting over Charles. “I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth, rain fire, fury and despair, and bury you so deep sunlight will be a distant memory. Is that understood?”

“Sir, I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Charles conceded, relieved at his employer’s resumed usage of verbal threats instead of bodily harm after their last encounter. “I understand why you’re so protective of Samara. There isn’t anyone quite like her in the world.”

“I go on vacation, the first time in  _ years _ , and you took it as an opportunity to snatch my daughter and convince her to continue sneaking around with you behind my back.”

“I told you before, that was not my intention when I dropped you off at the airport so you could spend time with your wife. And as impossible as it might sound, Samara was the one who pursued me.” He waited for Samuel’s complexion to return to its typical ruddy hues, the man’s internal distress related to his daughter’s romantic pursuits clearly evident as the lack of color drained from his features.

“And I think we both know once she sets on a course of action, it’s incredibly difficult to convince her otherwise.” Mr. Young grumbled, mentioning how his daughter inherited her stubbornness from her mother. “But did you have a good trip, Mr. Young?”

“...I did. It was a much needed vacation,” Samuel crossed his massive forearms, “But my daughter, Jones? Is that why you wanted her as your assistant?”   
  
“No,” Charles retorted, surprising them both with his vehemence against the accusation. “As I mentioned previously, Samara wanted to gain more managerial experience if she is to take over the company and we agreed she’d have that opportunity as my assistant. I only planned on acting as her mentor but,” he paused, thinking back to the night he and Samara negotiated their ' _ arrangement _ ,' “...something changed. It would be presumptuous to compare it to the love you hold for your wife, but from the moment I realized how important she was to me, what she means to me,” his voice caught, he really couldn’t find the words, “Everything changed.”

But when exactly? The first time he held her, how beautifully she broke in his arms from his touch? How he would continue to crave seeing those expressions, how her body reacted to him and only for him to know? The first time she spent the night at his place, entangled together in the makeshift bed on the floor, the first time he had ever felt that warm and content with another person in so long. How empty it felt without her warmth filling the spaces of his being. 

No, it was even before then, when he threatened to fire Lucy, the first time his Bunty ever reared her horns. At last, he had finally gotten through to her and he wanted to see more, past the heiress, the sheltered, sickly child. He wanted to see how far he could go teaching her; he truly believed she was capable of amazing things if only she had the confidence to try. Somehow it changed from doing it for the sake of the company but for her and her alone. To guide her, mentor her, lov-

A vice, solid and unyielding shuttered his thoughts away, hidden within the depths of his mind, a steel trap surrounded by countless locks. 

Samuel observed his General Manager seemingly in conflict with himself. Despite his reasons for disliking Charles (even he could admit to himself they were fairly irrational), he was truly exceptional at his job, outperforming his predecessors as GM, and at times infuriatingly insightful and self-possessed. But in the years since Samuel had hired him, this was the first time he had seen anything remotely akin to doubt in the younger man’s eyes. It was a look he was all too familiar with. A hopeless fool. 

Perhaps he should take his beloved’s advice and ease off just a bit. Jones was after all, the father of his grandchild. “What are the estimated projections with our current projects for this quarter?” 

Charles released the breath he unintentionally held, momentarily relieved at the change in topic. Proceeding to inform Mr. Young of the current status of their ongoing projects, they discussed timelines and Samara’s decision to take lead on the Indigineer presentation. It seemed he would get to keep his job and live another day.

\---

He must have spoken too soon, fairly certain he was doomed either to heaven or hell, expecting his untimely demise within minutes of arriving at the Young residence. “Samara,” Charles protested weakly, trying to keep his eyes on the road, “You don’t have to, fuck,” he dragged out the monosyllabic curse, gripping the leather steering wheel tightly as they approached the stoplight. For once he was thankful he included the custom tinted windows when he purchased the car, shielding them from roving eyes as Samara continued to stroke his length with a mixed combination of her hands, lips and tongue. 

It started innocently enough, their hands linked and resting on his thigh while making the trek from his-their apartment (They had just finished moving the last of her boxes into his place) to her parents’ house for the dinner party. Then Samara’s hands began to wander, skimming along the inseam of his gray trousers and dipping underneath the waistband, her nails trailing across the bare skin of his hips. Given the circumstances and their end destination, he was surprised at her boldness, but he suspected it was due, in part, to the latest addition of first trimester symptoms Samara was experiencing: a nigh insatiable craving for high levels of protein. Before he could even attempt to discourage her while exiting the freeway, she undid his zipper and what little remained of his controlled restraint.

The smart thing would’ve been to pull over and stop the car. But they were running behind and he hated being late and they were so close, he was so close, digging his left foot into the upholstery as Samara’s lips nearly touched the base of his shaft, her tongue sliding along his cock, and swirling around the tip before swallowing him again. And again. And again while he drove, the GPS directions barely audible above the roar of blood pounding through his veins. 

Suddenly the GPS announced they would be arriving at their destination in 5 minutes, spurring Sam to move faster, her lips in time with her hand now encircling his base, sensing the circular motions bringing Charles closer, his body stiffening against hers as Sam’s childhood home drew nearer. “Oh fuck, Samara,” she heard Charles release another string of curses, this time in Welsh and some she recognized. She continued moving at an unforgiving pace, smirking when Charles reached over and gear shifted the car into park, the engine still running as she mounted her final attack. Slipping her free hand underneath to cup his balls, fingertips tracing across the delicate skin, Sam devoured and withdrew once again, her eyes catching the moment Charles came, his head thrown back and her name a twisted shout. He turned off the engine, thighs still quaking from the aftershocks as she swallowed his release. “You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS intoned while Sam sat up, savoring the conflicted expression on Charles’ face as she licked her lips. Cat and the Canary. Fear and desire. 

“That,” Charles had to catch his breath, awed and shocked at what had just occurred, “Was unexpected.” 

“You are magically delicious,” Sam teased, helping tuck Charles back in and zipping up his pants. She looked out the passenger window, seeing they had parked (if somewhat haphazardly) behind Link’s jeep at the end of her parents’ driveway.

“I would agree, but next time can we not do this in front of your parents’ house?” He quickly checked for any telltale signs of their earlier actions. “I’d like for my lungs and other internal organs to remain intact after today.”

“Don’t worry so much, Charles,” Sam gave a cheshire smile, “I’ll put in a good word with the boss.” She checked her makeup in the visor mirror, impressed with Monica’s lipstick recommendation.  _ She wasn’t kidding when she said it was sweatproof  _ **_and_ ** _ dickproof,  _ Sam mused, the lines of burgundy red still intact. She kissed the corner of his mouth before exiting the car. 

Charles took several slow, deliberate breaths, hoping to regain focus and mentally prepare to deal with Samara’s highly intuitive (yet perplexingly dense) family. With one final cleansing breath, Charles stepped out of the car and unlocked the trunk, retrieving the homemade honey cherry cake they made following last night’s  **The Finest British Bakers** (Samara had caught him one morning catching up on the latest season after ‘accidentally’ spending the night. And instead of teasing him mercilessly like his cousins back in Wales, she joined him whenever the latest episode streamed on Netpix, and afterwards attempted one of the episode’s featured baking challenges. This week was cake). He closed the trunk and walked up to Samara. “Are you ready?”

“I think I should be asking you that question,” Sam held onto Charles’ offered arm, “You look more nervous than me.”   
  
“I won’t deny your family can be daunting when it comes to you, but like I said, there’s no shame in being so well loved.” They walked towards the house’s main entrance until they approached the front door. “Promise you’ll protect me?” He jested. Out of all the members of the Young family, Samara was the smallest. But he was beginning to see she was, by far, the most indomitable. After all, in only a matter of months, she completely turned his life upside-down, realigning all of his priorities and rewriting the rules of his personal universe.

“Always,” Sam stood on her tiptoes to place a small kiss on his lips, surprised when Charles deepened it, lips pressed roughly against her as the arm she was previously holding onto wrapped around her waist. She sighed contentedly, pulling him closer by the lapels of his navy sports jacket. A part of her wished they could skip the dinner and have their cake elsewhere, anywhere. Just them.

Jay checked his phone, “Sam didn’t get lost, did she?” When his mom asked him and Ruth to come home this weekend for family dinner, he was surprised to see Sam’s guild also invited. But no Sam. His little sister didn’t drive but all of her friends were awaiting her arrival, apparently she had some important news she wanted to share with everyone present. Ruth tried to assure him she was probably running behind, but he knew something wasn’t quite right. Relying on his brotherly intuition, he walked towards the foyer. Maybe Sam was already outside with whoever was bringing her to the party and he was worrying over nothing. 

Jay drew back the curtain and peered through the front windows, his face contorted in shock and horror, unable to tear his eyes away from what he saw. “No! Stop it!” It was almost comical how he pressed his face against the windowpane watching Sam entwined with Charles, kissing on their front porch. “What are you doing to my sister!” He knocked on the glass, causing Sam and Charles to break apart, the two dazed and surprised to see him. Jay would’ve launched himself through the glass, built like his father, a bull in a china shop, if it weren’t for Ruth and his mom pulling him away from the window. Sam awkwardly waved before entering the house, sensing she would have to fulfil her promise and protect the father of her child from the overprotective men in her family. 

\---

Maybe he was a cat with nine lives (Or was he down by several at this point?), once again relatively unscathed following the family dinner at the Young residence. Although all of the near homicidal intent had drained out of Jay, petulant and depressed when he realized he was the only one unaware Sam and Charles were now married and expecting. (“Babe!” He cried out to Dr. Hadar, “How could you not tell me?” He sobbed while she remained immovable under patient confidentiality). 

Dr. Young had proceeded to occupy a spot on the living room rug, curled into the fetal position not unlike to his father when Mrs. Young had flown off to Hawaii for two weeks. It was in those instances, he assumed Samara had taken after her mother’s temperament compared to her brother and father, and for that he was thankful. Eventually, Jay had been coaxed off the floor with the promise of the cake he and Samara brought (The Youngs had similar weaknesses for sweets). Only to cry out, “THE CAKE IS A LIE!” when he discovered who had baked it, eating it begrudgingly (It was too good to decline). 

But Charles’ luck had run out at long last when he received a video call from his mother. A momentary weakness on his part, feeling somewhat guilty for avoiding the past two attempts claiming he was unavailable due to work commitments. Which was partially true if the work commitments involved going over the Indigneer proposal with Samara in his office closet and distracting her during a teleconference with a client (He was impressed with the knots used with his tie, ordering him to stay and keep his hands to himself until she was finished with the call, and what followed after).

“ **_Charles Rhys Jones_ ** .” Even on the other side of the world, his mam could make the temperature drop several degrees with a few choice words. Was it a requirement for all headmasters to have or just a skill accrued over decades of wrangling rowdy children and attempting to turn them into decent adults?  **_“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”_ **

“ _ Nothing really comes to mind _ ,” he attempted to say casually in his native tongue while trying to avert his eyes from the arctic blues he inherited. “ _ How are you this evening _ ?”

**_“I received an interesting call from your boss, Mr. Samuel Young?”_ ** Charles cursed silently, biting his inner lip. His mam’s contact information was company knowledge and located in his file in the event of an emergency. But he hadn’t considered Mr. Young would actually contact her, unless,  **_“He wanted to extend his congratulations...on your marriage?”_ ** Samuel Young may be forced to withhold his wrath by his wife and daughter, but he knew of the one person who could still strike fear into his heart,  **_“To his daughter no less.”_ **

Charles took a breath and counted down the seconds before his mother tore into him, her voice reverberating throughout his office. It was as if the pink phone he held somehow morphed into a scarlet letter, hissing and spewing angry rants and curses about the impropriety of his actions engaging in a tryst with his employer’s daughter, and willful neglect to inform his own mother of his marriage, “ **_And to think I had to find out from your boss, of all people! Of course after I told him how uncouth it was for a man his age to tattle on you like a school child instead of addressing whatever underlying issues you two have, I had to hear it from you. Now where is she?”_ **

Charles blinked at how quickly she switched gears, “Mam-”

**_“Don’t stall, Kit. Where is she? I want to meet the lamb.”_ **

He certainly wasn’t prepared for this. “ _ She may be preoccupied at the moment _ ,” he paused when he heard a knock. Charles glanced up and saw Samara standing with the door ajar. 

“My dad said I should stop by your office,” Sam leaned against the door frame, “Is now a bad time?”

Before Charles could respond, his mother answered for him,  **_“Is that Samara? Bring her over and don’t dawdle.”_ ** He reluctantly gestured to Samara, who complied and walked over to his desk. He really wasn’t prepared for this. “Samara,” Charles angled the phone so they were both visible on his screen, “This is my mother, Elizabeth Jones.”

**_“Hello dear,”_ ** the platinum-haired woman greeted in English, traces of Charles evident in her features from the curve of her smile to her aquamarine eyes,  **_“I certainly wished to meet you in under better circumstances, I thought I had raised my son to be a proper gentleman, but clearly I was expecting too much.”_ **

“ _ Noswaith dda,  _ Mrs. Jones,  _ braf cwrdd â chi _ ,” Sam greeted her mother-in-law, “ _ Shw mae _ ?” ****

**_“You are a lamb,”_ ** Elizabeth laughed heartily, **_“Please, call me Lizzy. Stop gawking Kit and mouth closed, where are your manners?”_ ** Elizabeth scolded while her son snapped his jaw shut, “ **_He might be a bit daft at times, but I hope he’s being a good husband.”_ **

“He is,” Sam glanced at Charles bemusedly, “I’m sorry we haven’t spoken sooner.”   
  
“ **_It’s not your fault dear, I blame the one next to you for thinking he could keep secrets from me_ ** .” Elizabeth chided, “ **_Your father did mention the two of you had quite the whirlwind romance. I suppose some things never change, my Kit was always a hopeless romantic_ ** .” 

“Mother, please,” Charles pleaded, resisting the urge to take up Mr. Young’s offer to drop him in a deep dark place. 

**_“You brought this on yourself, Kit.”_ ** She said unapologetically, **_“Now tell me, will both of you be coming home then after the New Year?”_ ** Sam looked to Charles questioningly, **_“Charles said he couldn’t make it home for Christmas, but his grandparents are having a vow renewal for their 50th anniversary, and we’d all love for you to be there. It would mean so much to us and his grandparents, Charlie’s their favorite after all.”_ **

If Charles was considered to be a master manipulator, then he certainly learned from the best. Sam had to suppress the urge to grin watching him gradually concede to his mother’s demands, any objections practically steamrolled by her earnest and well-meant intentions. “If it’s all right with Charles,” Sam slipped her fingers around his elbow, awaiting his response. 

He hesitated. Whatever was left of his resolve to not return for the holidays wavered in the expectant faces of the two women in his life. Charles wasn’t sure if it was worth the trip, bringing Samara home to meet his family when they would inevitably get divorced. It had been years since he had last returned to Wales and the thought of returning churned his insides, a widening maw in the pit of his stomach. He turned to Samara and whispered, “It might not be the best time to travel given your condition.”

“Dr. Ruth said it’s safe to fly until nine months, so I think we have some time.” Sam whispered back before seeing the stunned expression on Elizabeth’s face.

**_“Nine months?”_ ** Charles winced, damn his mother’s impeccable hearing. He assumed Mr. Young had told his mother  _ everything _ , but that was obviously not the case when his mother disclosed several exclamations and curses, switching between English and Welsh, at the latest revelation. 

When Charles finally ended the video call with his mother, he tossed it onto his desk and mussed his hair, undoing the perfectly gelled strands while he leaned back in his chair. After the unintended pregnancy reveal, Charles had all but raised a tiny white flag to his mother’s requests to fly home for his grandparents’ vow renewal and for them to meet their new granddaughter-in-law and future great-grandchild. The tickets were already booked and approved by Mr. Young (and by approved, he meant Samara assuring him they would have the time off). 

“So,” Sam sat on the desk across from Charles. “Kit?”

Charles closed his eyes, “A baby fox. My mother’s nickname for me. She once said I was far too young and not clever enough to fool her, just a kit pretending to be a sly fox. And it stuck.”

“And Charlie?” She was surprised to see his response to that name. Here he was Charles, but in Wales, that name meant something else entirely.

“My grandparents. They actually call my mother Bess instead of Lizzy, which she prefers. And of course I go by Charles.”

“But they prefer Charlie.”

Charles briefly opened one eye, peeking at Samara. “Yes. And my schoolmates, and,” a vision of raven hair spilling out of a messy bun arguing with another dark-haired fellow as they walked to the nearest chippery after school, his heart squeezed painfully at the memory, unable to finish his train of thought. Both eyes opened to see Sam now sitting across his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck while his almost instinctively encircled her waist.

“You looked like you needed a hug,” Sam drew back and rested her brow against Charles’.

“Quite right too,” he murmured as Samara shifted to lay her head in the crook of his neck while he rested on top of hers. “You made quite the impression on my mother. Have you really been practicing Welsh, Bunty?”

“Just a few phrases, I thought it would be good to know, just in case.”

“Then I applaud you on your foresight,” Charles teased gently, “But we might need to fix some of those accents and work on your tongue.”

“Well, you know I’m a fast learner,” Sam tilted her head as Charles brought his lips to hers. 

\---

Locking the car door, Charles had just finished his evening fencing lessons, finding himself somewhat agitated as he walked up to his apartment. A small part of him regretted asking Samara to move in together. Any two people regardless of their relationship, siblings, friends, couples, in a shared living space were bound to run into conflict. He just didn’t expect it to be so soon. 

When he and Gweneth first lived together, and granted they had known each other practically their whole lives, it was around the three month mark they had their first row (over emptying trash bins of all things). But with him and Samara, it had taken less than two weeks. Of course unlike his ex-wife, Samara was also pregnant and increasingly labile between the mood swings, temperature shifts, cravings, and  _ cravings _ . He didn’t really know what to expect when he woke up each morning. 

She had certainly developed a temper, horns out in full display, although he would be remiss to say he didn’t enjoy her newfound spirit. It made her  _ enthusiastic  _ to say the least. He thought about their last argument (although could you really call it an argument if it was mostly a one-sided discussion?), regarding the thermostat. 

The weather had recently become much cooler, but any attempt to increase the thermostat past 15 degrees (60 in Fahrenheit) resulted in angry glares and snappish remarks. He could be accommodating but he wanted to sit comfortably around  _ his  _ apartment dammit, not pad about like a polar bear. She countered that she felt like a furnace with  _ his _ bun in _ her  _ oven and the least he could do was help her cool off. Samara also added that if he was worried about getting frostbite, contrary to his glacier persona, she was more than willing to lend her body to keep him warm, an offer that required little convincing on his end. 

Charles reached the apartment and unlocked the front door, greeted with a blast of frigid air. Was the temperature even lower than when he had left? He stood in the entryway, teeth practically chattering as he walked up to the main area. If they were to continue with their living arrangement, he needed to be firm and set limits. Keeping the thermostat no lower than 18 degrees, no leaving dishes in the sink longer than a day, putting away her clothes instead of draping them about their shared bedroom.

Charles came to a complete stop at the top of the stairs when he heard music, loud and catchy, but unfamiliar melodies streaming from what he believed was the kitchen area.

“Come a little closer, cause you looking thirsty, Imma make it better sip ya like a slurpee,” Charles heard Samara’s voice echoing as he drew closer. Unsurprisingly, she had a lovely singing voice. It was one of his favorite things to listen to after all.

_ “ _ **_Snow cone chilly, get it free like Willy, in the jeans like Billie, you’ll be popping like a Willy_ ** _!” _

He paused when he saw Samara clad in only a tank top and panties. Keeping hidden from direct view, he watched her sing and dance around the kitchen. “Even in the sun you know I keep it icy, you could take a lick but it’s so cold to bite me!”

Charles had to suppress a chuckle. Samara had her laptop opened and was mimicking some of the moves from the music video playing on Viewtube while preparing what seemed to be dinner, seeing various ingredients on the kitchen countertops. Her movements were a little stiff but he couldn’t take his focus away from her hips, how they swayed to the beat.

_ “ _ **_Brr, brr, frozen, you the one being chosen, play the part like Moses, keep it fresh like roses!_ ** _ ” _

“Look so good, yeah look so sweet, looking good enough to eat,” Sam sang while bopping from counter to counter, “Coldest with the kiss so he call me ice cream, catch me in the fridge right where the ice be,” chopping ingredients and dropping them in the pressure cooker. 

“Look so good, yeah look so sweet, baby you deserve a treat,” she pulled up the email from Lizzy. “Diamonds on my wrist so he call me ice cream, you can double dip cause I know you like me!” Sam did feel guilty about the fight she had with Charles earlier, so she decided to make soup using the recipe Lizzy sent her as a warm peace offering.

**_“Ice cream, chillin', chillin,’ Ice cream, chillin, Ice cream, chillin', chillin'…”_** Sam hummed along while scanning the next steps of the recipe. She and Lizzy had been regularly emailing since they first spoke in Charles’ office. Aside from a mutual ribbing of Charles and his idiosyncrasies, they shared an interest in cooking and of all things, K-Pop. Lizzy had also recommended some K-Dramas for Sam to watch and a potential new series they could enjoy together. Lizzy was eager to learn more about her new daughter-in-law, a feeling that was surprisingly mutual. 

“I know that my heart can be so cold, but I'm sweet for you, come put me in a cone,” Sam checked the pantry for chicken stock and several other ingredients, “You're the only touch, yeah, that get me melting, he’s my favorite flavor, always gonna pick him.”

“You're the cherry piece, just stay on top of me, so I can't see nobody else for me, no,” Sam smiled, thinking of the only person she wanted on top of her, her favorite flavor she craved. 

**_“Get it, flip it, scoop it, do it like that, ah yeah ah yeah, like it, love it, lick it, do it like la la la, oh yeah!_ ** _ ”  _

Sam repeated the chorus as she put away the deboned rotisserie chicken, half in plastic containers and the rest in the pressure cooker. Setting the timer, she secured the lid and washed her hands.

**_“...na na na na na, ice on my wrist, yeah, I like it like this, get the bag with the cream if you know what I mean,”_ ** __

“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream, chillin',” Sam swayed over to the freezer and pulled out a popsicle, wanting something cool to wrap her lips around, “...na na na na, ice on my wrist, yeah, I like it like this,” she tore the plastic packaging as she slowly spun around, her figure undulating with the music, “And I'm nice with the cream, if you know what I mean,” Sam licked the icy treat, her head bobbing along with the song, “Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream.” 

Sam let out a shout, startled to see Charles standing in the entryway. “Don’t scare me like that!” Sam placed a hand to her chest, hoping to still her racing heart. “When did you get back?” 

“Not too long ago.” Sam flushed, suddenly self-conscious that Charles probably saw her singing and dancing with the timing of a giraffe, or any other gangly, awkward animal. She licked the popsicle that was starting to drip onto her fingers, sucking on the flavored ice.

Sam glanced up at Charles, his face set in an attempted neutral expression. But he was unable to conceal the unmistakable flash of hunger, of  _ wanting  _ in his gaze, sending a shiver of a different kind down Sam’s spine. Turning to face him, Sam’s eyes locked with Charles as she pushed the popsicle deeper into her mouth, practically immune to the cold now, nearly swallowing its entirety before she withdrew, her tongue sliding along its length. Sam had barely repeated the motion twice before she found herself on an unoccupied spot on the kitchen counter, Charles’ arm secured around her waist. 

“Do you know exactly what you do to me?” His voice low, wandering hands under her tank top, sparks along her skin, damn near electric when they made contact with her breasts. Sam moaned, the popsicle nearly all but forgotten, almost falling from her grasp.

Charles’ cat-like reflexes caught the popsicle from making a mess onto the kitchen tile. But he had different intentions where the melting ice was concerned. With one hand, he swiftly removed Sam’s tank top and sent it sailing past the kitchen bar, and with a wicked grin he pressed the popsicle against Sam’s throat, sending cherry rivulets down her figure. 

Sam gasped at the cold ice, momentary relief from the rising temperature of her core. But this heat was unlike the hot flashes she experienced throughout the day, igniting a different hunger altogether. “I have an idea,” Sam replied, her moans interspersed between contact with the popsicle on her shoulders, breasts and abdomen, and Charles’ lips and tongue following the downward paths of the melting ice.

The popsicle was essentially gone by the time it reached her belly button, melted cherry staining the hem of her panties. Before Charles could discard either, Samara grabbed his hand and encircled her mouth around the remaining ice, leaving only the popsicle stick. Charles quietly watched as Samara made direct eye contact, swallowing the rest of the popsicle and slowly licking her dark red-stained lips. Charles pulled Samara forward and captured her in a demanding kiss, tasting chilled cherries on her tongue.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, Sam nipped his lower lip, breaking the kiss to tear off Charles’ shirt, seeking and wanting his bare skin on hers, both groaning when her breasts pressed against his chest. Her fingers entwined in his hair, Sam crushed his lips upon hers, deepening the kiss while Charles undid his jeans, pausing awkwardly to kick them off before he resumed his earlier path, lips, tongue and teeth making their way down past her breasts, belly button, until stopping at the sticky hem of her underwear.

Charles’ tongue slid along the waistband, dipping underneath to lap the remnants of the cherry popsicle, nearly ripping off Sam’s underwear while tugging her forward so she was centered with his mouth. Sam leaned back slightly, her head resting against the overhead cabinet while Charles’ tongue slid, slowly, painstakingly along her clit, skilled fingertips barely brushing against her folds. She rocked her hips against his mouth, his fingers, pleading, begging for him to move faster, how much she wanted him inside of her. But he continued to torture her, moving in unhurried motions until she wound her thighs around his head and pulled him closer, deeper, hips grinding against his mouth and traitorous tongue.

Charles tilted his head up, bemused and aroused at the display of temper, impatience and desire contrasting in Samara’s eyes. “Are we in a hurry Bunty?” He smirked, holding her gaze while swiping his tongue against her clit, enjoying how her thighs quaked around him.

“Will you stop teasing and _fuck_ me?” Sam’s temper lashed, sliding her legs off Charles’ shoulders. Sitting upright, Sam pushed her foot back against Charles’ chest causing him to stumble, crouched on the floor. Sam hopped off the kitchen counter and repeated the motion, this time pressing her toes against his ribs so he lay on the kitchen tile, darkly enjoying the surprise and uncertainty in his features. She leaned over and removed his boxers forcefully, his erection standing prominently, free from its constraints. 

Charles’ hips bucked, his forearms braced against the floor as Samara’s lips encircled him, her tongue roving roughly along his length while her head moved up and down. “Fuck,” Charles cursed, jerking against her while she continued, viciously attacking him with her lips and tongue swirling along his shaft. Watching her newfound ferocity, Charles felt himself moving closer and closer to the edge when she stopped as abruptly as she started. “Samara,” he groaned, unable to hold back the plea in his voice now bereft from her touch.

“What is it Charles?” Sam crawled over him, lowering herself so her forearms were propped on either side of his head and shifted her hips just so, her ass stroking against his erection in small circular paths, “Tell me what you want.”

Charles’ feet dug into the floor, hands gripping her waist as Samara leaned further, her breasts grazing his chest. “I-I want,” he gasped as she withdrew, leaning back to grind up and down his shaft before returning, her breasts barely within reach of his mouth, “I want you,” Charles moved forward, sitting upright as he kissed her fiercely, teeth lightly tugging her lower lip, “Only you,” he whispered, kissing her once more.

Sam, surprised by the gentleness in his voice, quivered against him. She reluctantly broke the kiss, only to lean back and lift her hips, plunging himself inside of her in one swift motion, both moaning as she settled against his pelvis. Slowly at first, Sam rocked against Charles, then moved faster and faster in time with his thrusts. 

It was practically intoxicating watching Samara ride him, hips pistoning lightning quick against his, how her breasts moved and heaved before him. It was a sight he couldn’t get enough, could  _ never _ get enough of. His fingers reached her clit, rubbing circular patterns and drinking in her breathy moans, drawing her closer and closer to the peak, one he wasn’t too far behind of. 

Sam’s thighs quaked when she moved harder, faster, crying out as Charles somehow drove deeper into her with every thrust. She held onto him, lips against hers in a breathtaking kiss when she came, golden, warm and liquid flowing through her. But she did not stop, continuing to ride Charles relentlessly, watching him, his eyes glazed, hands desperately gripping her hips, her waist when he called her name and felt his release emptying within her. 

They continued to sit, joined together for several moments. Charles rested his head upon Samara’s shoulder, placing small kisses along her neck while she embraced him, arms resting across his shoulder blades. Placing one last kiss on her shoulder, Charles sat up, his palm pressed to Samara’s cheek. He certainly had no complaints about the cold now. “Hi Bunty,” he smiled, “I’m home.”

Sam gave him a bright smile in return, “Hi Charles, welcome home.”

“If I get this kind of response whenever I return,” he chuckled, then looked up at the pressure cooker, “What were you making?”

“Mulligatawny soup, your mom sent me her recipe.” Sam was surprised to see his shocked expression, unaware of the circumstances the last time he had mulligatawny soup in Wales. “She said it’s one of your favorites and I wanted to make it up to you for turning your place into an icebox.”

Charles kissed her forehead. It had been years since he last had it, but maybe he could associate with a happier memory now. “I’m sure it’ll taste delicious. When will it be ready?”

Sam looked at the pressure cooker which still read  **10:00.** “Oh, I guess I forgot to press start. But probably in ten to twenty minutes,” she flushed when her stomach grumbled loudly. 

“I guess the baby’s hungry now,” Charles teased, lightly kissing Samara’s lips, “How about ice cream?” He laughed as she playfully smacked his shoulder. 

\---

**_I didn't know that I was starving till I tasted you_ **

**_Don't need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo_ **

_ By the way, by the way, you do things to my body _

_ I didn't know that I was starving till I tasted you _

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh Translations
> 
> Y Ddraig Goc: The Red Dragon  
> Noswaith dda: Good Evening  
> Braf cwrdd â chi: Nice to meet you   
> Shw mae: How are you?


	7. Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A book, Grandmammy?”  
> “That’s right, this is a special book I used to read to your mom when she was sick and I’m going to read it to you.”  
> “Does it have ninjas or monsters?”  
> “Are you kidding? It’s got fencing, fighting, chases, revenge, shenanigans, true love, even a Christmas story, maybe a miracle or two.”  
> “I guess it sounds okay, I’ll try not to fall asleep.”  
> “Please hold your enthusiasm, lamb. Now, once upon a time…”
> 
> Although far, far away from the Cliffs of Insanity, fire swamps and rodents of unusual size, our heroes may have an obstacle or two (or several) of their own to surpass on the way to happily ever after (if you believe in such a thing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always and forever thanks to my beta/twin/soul sis/eagle to my bambi/Dr. Drake Ramoray to my Ms. Chanandler Bong, IntoTheGallifray! Figured since we're getting close to the holiday season now's a good time for some seasonal fluff...and angst mwahahahaha (Insert standard warning for Mature/Explicit Content)

Chapter 7: Electricity 

\---

_Falling into you, baby_

_Even electricity can't compare to_

_What I feel when I'm with you_

_Ooh, baby_

_Giving up my ghost for you_

_And now I'm see-through_

_\---_

Charles stepped out of the bathroom, ignoring the quickening of his pulse when he saw Samara tucked under the covers and propped against several pillows, reading aloud from a hardcover, embossed with faded gold script. He listened for a few moments, leaning against the doorframe while Samara described how much Buttercup loved her horse and taunting her farm boy before interrupting, “Is that **The Princess Bride**?” He glanced at the cover while slipping under the comforter.

Sam stopped mid-sentence, slightly startled and embarrassed that Charles was listening to her act out the voices of the different characters. She nodded, a faint blush on her cheeks. “My mom would read me a chapter every day whenever I was sick at the hospital and from what I’ve researched,” she gestured to the stack of baby books on the bedside table, “Reading to the baby can help it become familiar with our voices and help its development.” She paused when Charles sat closer and looked over her shoulder, his warm breath pricking her ear.

“May I?” said he, as she soundlessly handed the book to him. Charles settled against the piled pillows while Samara turned, her head fitting snugly into the curve of his neck. He adjusted his glasses and started where Samara left off, “ _The horse's name was "Horse" (Buttercup was never long on imagination) and it came when she called it, went where she steered it, did what she told it._

“ _The farm boy did what she told him too. Actually, he was more a young man now, but he had been a farm boy when, orphaned, he had come to work for her father, and Buttercup referred to him that way still. "Farm Boy, fetch me this"; "Get me that, Farm Boy—quickly, lazy thing, trot now or I'll tell Father_."

" _As you wish_."

“ _That was all he ever answered. "As you wish." Fetch that, Farm Boy. "As you wish." Dry this, Farm Boy. "As you wish." He lived in a hovel out near the animals and, according to Buttercup's mother, he kept it clean. He even read when he had candles.._.”

Charles had continued for several passages until he felt the steady rise and fall of Samara’s breaths as she dozed against his chest. He marked the page with a well worn bookmark in the shape of a red quill tucked between the first pages of the book, and tried to place it on his bedside table without waking Samara, who roused at the slightest movement. 

“Can we do this every night?” Sam murmured sleepily. “It’ll be good for the baby, and you have a really great reading voice, you should read for audiobooks,” she said mid-yawn before falling back asleep. 

Charles smirked at her sleepy protests when he shifted to return the book to his bedside table, took off his glasses and turned off the lamp. He laid back down, letting Samara snuggle close, and drape her arm across his torso, even though she would wake up in a few hours, kicking off the covers and taking nearly all the space in the king-sized bed. Just before closing his eyes, Charles kissed the top of her head and whispered, “As you wish.”

\---

Angela’s jaw dropped when they entered the living room, her eyes darting from the high ceilings, open windows, and floors (floors!). She almost felt guilty about kicking out Sam’s husband (husband!), and tossing him out with Marshmallow while they took over the three-story apartment for Sam’s belated bridal shower. Between Sam’s morning sickness, low energy, and well, the whole pregnancy thing, they couldn’t have a wild bachelorette party. But Angela imagined if Sam could, it would be similar to this: An evening spent with friends, playing games, sipping cocktails (non-alcoholic for Sam), gossiping and eating junk food and takeout. 

“I knew pretty-boy did well for himself,” Monica whistled, eying the tasteful, yet sparse décor to the outdoor balcony, “I didn’t know _this_ well. Nice job, kiddo,” she winked at Sam, laughing at her flustered expression. 

Monica knew Sam didn’t care about status, wealth or any of those things. Although she was thrilled when Sam had decided to undergo one of her makeovers and blossomed while under her tutelage, learning the value of investing in her appearance to enhance her natural beauty and burgeoning confidence. Somewhere along the way, they had managed to become friends and she was thankful for her kiddo seeing her as McKenzie and not GlitzKitten. She also became Sam’s confidante in the more explicit aspects of her life, from lingerie shopping to selecting her first vibrator and recently, sharing some of her _sex_ -capades. Apparently she and pretty-boy liked bathtubs, but everyone had their preferences. 

“Have you guys had sex in every room? I know you’ve been keeping him up all night.” Monica whispered, giving Sam an affectionate squeeze around her shoulders. Sam had mentioned having increased appetite, particularly the carnal kind, and Monica was sure the Welshman was up to the task. But there was only so much stamina a man could endure, so she imagined her wedding present would be well appreciated by Sam and her handsome Brit (Who seemed a little more unkempt than his usually perfectly put together self, noticing the dark circles starting to form under his eyes).

Sam, flushed but not near dangerous levels on her blush meter, was momentarily silent. “There are a lot of rooms, but-” She was cut off by an excited shout from Monica, demanding details but then changed her mind and asked if Sam could give them a tour of the apartment before they set up. She agreed, temporarily relieved not to be put on the spot but also to mentally prepare herself as she led Angela, Vikki, and Monica around the apartment. They were her best friends and she wanted to tell them everything (well, not _everything_ , everything, the truth of her marriage was still only kept to Charles, Marshall, Dean and Collin). But if anyone had told her a year ago she’d be engaged in an exciting, sensuous, illicit affair with her boss (and getting married and having his baby), she would’ve broken the blush meter past total nuclear meltdown. 

Afterwards, Sam and the girls returned to the living room. Vikki was teaching Monica the rules to the board game she was setting up, Angela confirmed their Chinese takeout and pizza order while mixing cocktails and mocktails, and Sam was resting on the couch, scrolling through Netpix and selecting one of her favorite series, **Gourmet Hound** , to play in the background. Angela handed her a Moscow Mule (which was really just non-alcoholic ginger beer and seltzer, but she appreciated being included) and said Dee would be on her way over as soon as she locked up the coffee shop. Drinking from her copper mug, Sam hoped Charles and Marshall were getting along, considering it was the first time they were forced to spend time together (alone) since their misadventures in Vegas. Sending a conciliatory message after reading another text from Dr. Ruth saying she’d be on her way after finishing rounds, Sam tossed her phone aside. She toasted with her friends, her mug clinking against their glasses before she was given the first roll of the dice to start the game.

\---

Charles glanced at his notifications screen, seeing the text from Samara, apologizing for her friends’ antics and essentially kicking him out of his own apartment. Little did she know, Vikki had forewarned him of the surprise bridal shower they wanted to host during the dinner at the Young residence. He had agreed to it, partially out of guilt since her friends were unable to attend the wedding given the circumstances, but also for the things Samara missed out on - a bachelorette party, bridal shower, celebrating with the people who she loved and loved her - because of their reckless actions. He had made plans to check out a recently opened escape room. He just didn’t count on being paired off with Marshall for the remainder of the evening. 

So here they were, at a pool hall (neutral ground since they both played and Marshall wasn’t keen on the escape room while Charles wasn’t particularly interested in a Space Battle movie marathon) with Dean and Collin (who coincidentally were already there, setting up at a reserved billiard table). They had gotten into a disagreement over pool cue lengths (“It’s not a dick-measuring contest idiots,” Collin said flatly, “They’re weight-based”) and played a game before Dean brought some festive drinks courtesy of the bartenders (“Boys, girls, I can’t help it baby!” Dean sang, feeling quite festive himself) suggesting they up the ante with some _friendly_ wagers. 

“If you or your teammate miss your shot or if the opposing team sinks their ball, take a sip from your drink.” Dean passed him and Collin a glass of what Charles assumed was spiked eggnog, noting the creamy consistency and observing the overall holiday décor in the pool hall while Marshall got a non-alcoholic cranberry sparkler. “And if your team loses, (Charles and Dean were stripes and Collin and Marshall were solids this round) you have to take a shot, _hermano_ ,” Dean looked to Marshall, “Since you cannot, I am more than happy to volunteer my services and take the shot for you.” To which Collin objected, stating he will take the shot on Marshall's behalf.

“Besides,” Collin pushed the rim of his glasses up, the overhead lights obscuring the lenses, “If anyone’s going to lose, it won’t be us.” 

Halfway through the match, Charles found himself quite relaxed, swaying slightly on his pool cue. “If I didn’t know any better,” he smirked at Dean and reached for his drink, his second glass, which wasn’t eggnog but was surprisingly delicious, “I’d say you were losing on purpose.”

Dean clinked glasses with Charles before taking a sip, “If it means I get to go back and talk to that pretty redhead with the crooked smile,” he gestured to the bar, “I am _this,_ close to getting those digits.”  
  
Charles nodded, licking the white foam on his upper lip, “Yes, but which one?” He referred to the two red-haired bartenders, one male and one female, waving back at Dean, who merely grinned in reply. Charles snorted, his knuckles tapping against Dean’s offered fist bump. 

Marshall glanced at the glasses, somewhat suspicious how quickly Charles’ mood shifted, reminiscent of the last time the four of them spent an evening together. “Collin, what’s that drink called?”

His gray-haired friend had finished his glass before aligning his cue, aiming for the solid purple ball. “The **Marble Queen** , lime, coconut cream and tequila.” Collin smiled when he sank his target.

Marshall grimaced, pressing his finger pads to his forehead and, taking a cue from Charles’ (and Sam’s) book, muttered, “ _Oh fy nuw.”_

\---

Charles enjoyed the brisk weather while on the park swing, leaning his head against the cool metal chain while swaying back and forth. It was colder for southern California. But sometimes he missed the crisp winter nights of Wales, when it smelled of snowfall and his breath condensed into the evening air. 

“There you are, you shifty weirdo,” Charles glanced up at Marshall, who ran to him and tossed over his car keys and pink cell phone while catching his breath. “How did you end up here?”

“I walked.” Charles shrugged as if it was perfectly normal to walk the 10 blocks away from the pool hall where Marshall had spent the past hour driving up and down looking for the Welshman. “It’s a nice night, and I wanted to go outside and enjoy it. And this is a very nice park with a very nice swing, if you care to join me,” he gestured to the empty swing beside him.

 _Like herding cats this one,_ Marshall silently grumbled as he sat beside the fair-haired troublemaker. After a few matches (and a few shots of cinnamon schnapps, courtesy of the ginger bartenders), Charles had discovered the piano tucked away in the back of the pool hall and started playing Christmas carols, even taking song requests. He had made about $100 in tips and was surrounded by a crowd of interested patrons before Marshall snatched him and saw a text from Monica saying they could return to the apartment before midnight. But just as he took his eyes off Charles, he had disappeared into the crowd and out the bar, leaving behind his keys and cell. 

Not wanting to alarm Sam that her husband had gone missing under his watch, Marshall figured he had some time to look before midnight. He said goodbye to Collin and Dean (who successfully got the contact info of both red-haired bartenders), hopped into Charles’ car and went off in search of the runaway Brit. Nearly an hour into his search, he’d seriously considered praying to his ancestors to help him locate Charles, when he suddenly spotted him in the small city park, pulling over quickly and rushing over before he could escape again.

“I never thought I’d get to do this,” Charles broke the stillness, drawing lines in the sand as he dragged his foot back and forth.

“What, don’t they have parks in England?” Marshall smirked, well aware of how Charles felt about being mistaken for English instead of Welsh.

“I meant taking my child to a playground,” Charles confessed, “Going to the park with my family. Having a family really.” What was once his fondest wish seemed like a distant dream, unrealistic and unattainable. Since his divorce, he all but gave up on the thought of opening his heart and loving someone that deeply again. 

“Until poof,” Marshall waved his hands, voicing Charles’ inner thoughts, “Instant family with Sam.” He leaned back and began to swing. “Are you still serious about getting divorced?”

“Yes.” 

Marshall immediately groaned at Charles’ response. “Dude, I remember everything you told me in Vegas, and there’s no way you don’t have feelings for her.” He saw Charles flinch as if struck with an electric shock. “I mean your face literally screams, _doki-doki_ , every time you see her.”  
  
“Doki...doki?” Charles asked perplexedly, wondering if the alcohol was dulling his intellect. “What kind of description is that?”

“What, you’ve never had a moment where your heart went, _doki-doki_ ,” Marshall tapped his taco-heart, “And everything in the world suddenly stops and the only thing you can see is her, nothing else,” he may have felt that once, but auburn hair gave way to bold pink, “No one else. Just her.” He glanced over at Charles who stared at the ground, golden strands falling across his face. “Can you really tell me you’ve never felt that at least once?” 

Met with silence, Marshall pressed on, “I know you got screwed over hard by your ex,” Charles’ mouth twisted into a grimace, “But it’s pretty damn obvious you two really care about each other.” Marshall promised Sam he wouldn’t interfere, somehow becoming the unofficial secret-keeper for these two, but, “Why not make an actual go of it?”

“...I don’t have the right.” Charles could picture Samara perfectly, how his body, his _heart_ would react to her, before his mind could. It was nearly instinctual at this point. And it terrified him. “I took away her freedom to choose, I’ve taken so many things,” he leaned further, the chain of the swing pressing into his forehead, “The least I can do is support her until the baby arrives and then she can be free of me.”

“But what if she wants to stay with you? And it’s not like you won’t be involved in Sam’s life or the baby’s, so,” Marshall stopped when he heard a soft snore from Charles, and a notification from his phone which read **11:36pm**. “Perfect timing.”

\---

Charles leaned against Marshall’s shoulder, faintly singing a Welsh drinking song as he was steered towards the apartment. Taking his keys back from Marshall, Charles unlocked the door, sleepily announcing, “Bunty, I’m home,” only to pause abruptly at the semi-naked men parading around the living room to blaring techno-trance club music.

Marshall followed in after Charles, eyebrows raised at Charles’ jaw-dropped expression and what appeared to be a gaggle of male strippers scantily dressed from various fandoms. _Ten lords-a-leaping indeed_. “Holy g-string,” he laughed while Vikki approached them.

“Sorry, last minute present from Edgar, courtesy of Olivia, I imagine,” she referred to the gyrating men surrounding the other girls on the sofa.

“I’m not,” Monica called out to Marshall from the barstool, asking if he had any extra singles as she smacked the ass of a dancer with chestnut locks and serpentine hips. Before Marshall could hand her any, Charles turned off the music and turned on the lights.

“OUT,” Charles demanded, his eyelid twitching at the silver-haired man, whose defined thighs could rival tree trunks, hovering over _his_ wife. If anyone was going to give Samara a lap dance, it would be him, dammit. “NOW.” He demanded when the lead dancer informed him they still had 30 minutes before the session was complete, but quickly changed their mind when Charles handed him a generous tip (a giant wad of cash that somehow magically fit in his wallet). The ringleader whistled to his counterparts calling out, “Assemble!” gathering their things and exiting the apartment in a timely fashion. 

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Dee whispered to Angela, tugging her off the couch while they grabbed their things. “We can help clean up,” Dee paused when she saw the ire on Charles’ face, blue eyes flinty and cold, “Or we’ll just go.”

Ruth turned, hiding her face behind her palm and silently mouthed for Sam to call her later, mischief gleaming in her eyes and clearly enthralled by Charles’ intimidating aura casting icy waves throughout the living room.

“Have fun, Kiddo.” Monica kissed Sam’s cheek, pointed to the pile of presents, “I’m sure they’ll come in handy tonight.” Vikki and Angela also said their goodbyes while Monica grabbed Marshall, who waved helplessly as all of Sam’s friends left, leaving her and Charles alone in the apartment.

Sam was about to apologize and explain what had happened when Charles left to lock the door and returned to stand directly in front of her, feeling her heart suddenly race from his authoritative presence. “Are you mad? I didn’t expect Olivia to send them in her place.” Not that she didn’t appreciate the harem of sci-fi and comic book characters, fulfilling a few mental fantasies and dreams as of late.

“No, it’s your hen-do, and you should have fun with your friends Samara,” Charles bent forward, a wolfish glimmer in his cerulean eyes, “I just wanted you all to myself.” Sam’s breath hitched as Charles leaned closer, shivering when his lips pressed to her ear. “Because if you really wanted a lap dance, love,” Sam gasped as his tongue traced along her ear, releasing a whimper when he suddenly drew back and swiftly undid the buttons of his oxford, “All you had to do was ask.” 

Sam was surprised to hear music, low and sultry voices echoing from the SmartSound system. But her attention was quickly drawn back to Charles when he undid his belt and placed her hands on the buckle, arching his hips as she pulled the strap from its belt loops. Sam dropped the belt onto the couch, her hands greedily racing up and down Charles’ chest while he straddled her, knees planted on the couch as he swiveled his hips, his erection pressing along her upper thighs and lower abdomen. “You should know by now, there’s very little I won’t do for you.” 

Sam could imagine other things Charles wasn’t willing to do (or say) for her, but she shoved those thoughts aside, releasing a frustrated growl when she tried to undo his zipper and he shifted away from her reach, only to deliciously move against her and retreat once more. “Stop teasing, Jones,” Sam demanded, pulling him forward by the waistband and down so his lips crashed onto hers. Drawing back slightly, Sam pointed to the presents on the kitchen counter and told Charles to open the one from Monica.

He complied, walking over to the counter and opening the glittery eggplant shaped gift bag. He quirked an eyebrow, amused by its contents as he tipped them onto the marble surface. “Are these for you or me, Mrs. Jones?”

Sam released an involuntary shudder, warmth coursing throughout, while she leaned back on the couch and stretched, sinuous and cat-like, lips pulled back into a wicked grin. “Bring them here and we’ll find out.”

\---

Charles and Sam sat in the reception area, waiting to be seen for their appointment. Sam was busy filling out several pages of paperwork while Charles was checking on emails. He paused at one with the subject line, _Ellesmere VP Position_ , deciding to send it to a separate folder. Although he had declined the position, he still received emails from their hiring office. As much as he missed the UK, the thought of returning seemed unfathomable to him. He watched Samara pause at the section of the questionnaire, _Father of Child._ Charles took the clipboard and began filling in his medical history, hesitating before writing, _Unknown,_ next to _Father._

“I guess there’s still a lot I don’t really know about your family.” Sam confessed when Charles handed the papers back to her. “Even though you know so much about mine.”

“I never knew my father.” He said quietly, unclenching his jaw. “I had cousins, aunts, uncles, my grandparents, but for the most part it’s been me and my mam-mother.” Charles corrected himself. Samara placed her hand in his, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze. He took comfort from that simple gesture, a balm to old scars.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sam’s heart ached. Despite the amount of trouble her father and brother often caused, she couldn’t imagine having grown up without their love and protection. She understood Charles a little more, at least the parts he was willing to show. It made sense, in a way, why he got married to his high school sweetheart. _He wanted a family_ , _something real and lasting._ Somehow the realization made her more emotional, her eyes starting to tear, remembering how his first marriage ended. Now he was with her, fake marriage, real baby, and was saddened how things hadn’t worked out for him.

Surprised and moved by her tears, Charles wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. “We can’t change the past, Bunty,” he assured her, “But we’re here now.” He chuckled as a few more tears leaked past her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” the words escaped, “I meant it when I said I’m here for you and the baby,” _I am not my father_ “So-” He paused mid sentence when Samara placed her other hand around the back of his neck, pulling him forward in a soft kiss.

“I’m here for you too,” Sam whispered, gently bunting his forehead.

It was supposed to be an act, all pretend and make-believe until they could undo the marriage. But Charles discovered he was rapidly descending at the whims of this woman who held so much love and strength in her small frame. _This is dangerous,_ he thought, time and time again, the instinct to run behind his carefully crafted defenses weaking with every passing day. Every afternoon, when her fingertips touched his after bringing her tea and snacks just in case she forgot to eat while engrossed with a task. Every morning, when he opened his eyes and saw her beside him, hair wild and mouth agape as she snored softly. Every night, when she’d fall asleep in his arms while reading from **The Princess Bride** . Whatever little remained of his fortifications fell apart once more when he looked into her dark eyes, whisky-brown orbs warm and inviting, and _his._

Shivers ran down Sam’s spine, almost in awe of the intensity in Charles’ gaze, electric and sharp like a lightning bolt. What he did to her with just a look, she trembled, heat pooling in her belly. Wanting more than a simple kiss as she inched forward to close the distance between them, Charles’ fingers in her hair-

“Sam Young?”

They leapt apart upon hearing Sam’s name called by the clinic nurse, suddenly remembering they were in a very public place and consciously aware of the stares and whispers from the other patients in the waiting area.

“Lucky girl,” Sam heard one of the pregnant women sigh as they were escorted into the back hallways, feeling a little smug when Charles placed a protective palm along the small of her back. But it only seemed to increase her desire to feel those long fingers on bare skin and hidden places only he knew of.

“Nice to meet you both, I’m Maddy Quintanilla, one of the midwives,” a short Asian woman stepped into the exam room, hands in her white jacket. “I hear, we are _here_ ,” she emphasized, “For a 10-week OB checkup?”

“Yes,” Sam replied as she sat on the exam table, “But we’re not too sure about the dates? Miss-”

“Q is fine, my name’s a bit of a mouthful,” She smiled easily. “We can definitely double check with our ultrasound, would you like to see your baby first?”

Sam was nearly overwhelmed, excitement mixed with nervousness when she agreed and Ms. Q brought in the ultrasound.

“So, depending on its size, we might be able to see the bean on ultrasound,” Ms. Q explained as she flattened out the exam table and applied warm gel to Sam’s lower abdomen. Shapes of gray and black shifted on the screen while Ms. Q guided the ultrasound probe lower. “And there it is,” 

Ms. Q pointed to what initially appeared to be a blob, then the blob _waved,_ “Those are its arms and legs, pretty active little bean,” she joked as the blob moved back and forth on the ultrasound screen. “I just need to take some measurements,” she fiddled with the machine, targeting the baby’s length, “And it looks like it's about 12 weeks.” She clicked several buttons, targeting a flickering beat on the ultrasound screen. Pressing the play button, a loud whooshing noise filled the room.

“That’s the baby’s heartbeat?” Sam asked, thinking it was one of most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. Ms. Q confirmed and began selecting images to print out pictures. Sam looked over to Charles who had grasped her hand, kissing the scarred palm, his eyes bright and pensive.

It was one thing to be told she was pregnant, but seeing the baby on the ultrasound and hearing its heartbeat, Charles found himself overcome. He could feel something breaking within him, like glacier ice crashing into the arctic sea, his heart surged with warmth and emotions he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. “Well done, Bunty,” he whispered, hiding his lips behind her fingertips, equally in awe and afraid of the woman bearing his child.

Handing the pictures to Sam and Charles, Ms. Q wiped the gel off Sam’s belly and helped her sit up. The rest of the appointment was spent discussing Sam's medical history, managing her asthma, risks and precautions during the pregnancy as well as healthy diet, exercise, and dealing with common complaints and symptoms.

“What about cravings?” Sam inquired, a pink tint to her cheeks.

“Like eating nothing but tacos or sour foods?” Ms. Q quickly performed a general physical on Sam.

The flush spread to her collarbone as Sam fussed with her sweater. “I mean… _cravings._ ”

“Oh, sex?” Ms. Q caught on quickly. “Totally normal, raging hormones, fun times. Just remember the precautions I gave you in case of bleeding or cramping, but other than that, have at it.” She turned her attention to Charles. 

“Good luck, you should probably stock up on Powergator and Motrin. Maybe Tiger Balm and Epsom salts.” Charles wilted under the midwife’s amused Cheshire-like grin, surprised at her blunt response. They wrapped up the appointment with baby journals, informational booklets, referrals, and instructions to stop by the lab to complete some bloodwork and to call the clinic in a couple weeks to schedule the next appointment.

Afterwards, they walked over to the elevators and entered an empty cab. Charles leaned over Sam, his chest flush against her back, warm breaths raising gooseflesh along her bare neck and exposed skin as he pushed the button for the parking garage.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Sam yanked Charles by his waistcoat, crushing his mouth to hers in a hot, piercing kiss. Charles smirked against her lips, more than willing to indulge his Bunty as he pressed her against the paneled walls, deepening the kiss with a quick slide of tongue on her lower lip. Feeling her hips roll against him, Charles was unable to suppress a groan, his hands running down her body before grabbing her leg, practically lifting it around his hip and pulling her even closer. Just a touch of his fingertips pressing into the back of her thigh sent sparks, tiny flames against her skin and straight to her core, overwhelmed with an almost insatiable need for his hands on her, all of her. Sam continued to grind against his growing arousal as Charles kissed along her jaw, nipping the sensitive skin of her earlobe and tracing the outline of her ear with his tongue, a particular weak spot of hers, nearly melting in his arms right then and there.

Then came the soft ping of the elevator doors opening. Sam and Charles immediately disentangled themselves from each other, thankful for the obliviousness of the oncoming passenger currently preoccupied with her phone. It wasn’t until the car resumed its descent to the parking garage that the stranger looked up, turning towards Sam and Charles. “Is this going up to the OBGYN clinic?” She inquired.

“We actually just left the clinic and are on our way down to the garage.” Sam smoothed down her dress while Charles readjusted his tie.

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologized, “I thought the elevator was going up, I swear pregnancy brain gets worse every time. Especially with number three, they say everything’s different.” The woman winced momentarily, rubbing small circles on her lower back. “I’m due in a month, but I’ve been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for the past couple of days, so I wanted to check with my midwife-”

Suddenly, the elevator car abruptly stopped, the overhead lights shutting off, quickly switching to emergency lighting. “Is everyone okay?” Charles inquired with a protective arm wrapped around Samara.

“I think so.” The woman trailed off, shock gradually embedded in her features.

“Miss?” Sam tilted her head, “Are you okay?”

“Ah.” The sound hovered as uneasiness filled the enclosed space. “I think my water broke.” She looked at their deadpanned expressions, waving a hand nonchalantly. “No worries, usually when my water breaks it takes a couple hours before the contractions start-” The woman groaned, deeply and gutturally, a sound Charles was all too familiar with, flashbacks to summers spent on his grandpappy’s farm.

Charles tapped on the emergency contact button on the elevator, “Hello?” He spoke into the panel, “Can anyone hear us? We’re trapped in the elevator.” Charles did his best to remain calm, not wanting to alarm Samara but also making mental calculations on the likelihood of being rescued or power restored to the elevator before-

The other woman groaned once more as she propped her forearms against the elevator panels, taking slow and deep breaths. A crackle of static came from the speaker panel. “ **Sorry about that** ,” a disembodied voice spoke, “T **here was a power surge that disrupted the network, but we should have power restored, though it might take a while. How many passengers are in the elevator with you**?”

“There are three of us,” Sam answered, rushing over to check on the panting woman, “But we have a pregnant woman whose water just broke,” she paused when the woman released another low moan, the sound almost reverberating off the walls.

“ **Well shoot, that doesn’t sound good**.” The voice observed.

“NO SHIT DUMBASS,” The red-haired woman cried out, “I’M GOING TO HAVE THIS BABY HERE IF YOU DON’T FIX THE ELEVATOR!”

“ **I do apologize ma’am** ,” The voice on the other end responded somewhat flatly, “ **Unfortunately, all secondary power is being sent to the inpatient wards, so you’ll have to sit tight until main power returns**.”

The woman cried once more, spreading her legs apart, her hips trembling with exertion. Charles turned to face the laboring woman. “Miss,” he began gently, “What’s your name?”

“Ally,” she inhaled sharply, gripping Sam’s offered hand tightly.

“Miss Ally,” Charles observed the two women before him, “It seems your labor is progressing quickly.” He took off his jacket, tossing it to the side as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. “There may not be enough time before help arrives, so let’s try to make you as comfortable as we can.”

Ally cried out, “I really don’t want to have my baby in the elevator.”

“We might not have a choice.” Charles stated simply, looking at his phone, no service on the device. “Miss Ally, it looks like the cell phone towers are down, but is there someone you want us to contact when service comes back?”

“M-m-my wife, Donnaaaaaaa!”” She let out a keening wail, leaning on Sam for support. “She’s with our kids and my parents.” Ally grunted, feet rocking back and forth rhythmically. Sam wrapped her arm around Ally’s shoulders, equally stunned and in disbelief at their current situation. Murmuring words of encouragement, Sam looked over to Charles, glacier cool and collected, equally baffled and calmed by his neutral expression. 

“Miss Ally,” Charles leaned down, almost eye-level, “Would you prefer to stand or lie down?”

“I-I wanna keep standing,” Ally’s hips widened as another contraction rocked through her, “No! Lying down, please help me lie down.” They helped Ally onto the elevator floor. Lying on her side, Ally laid her head down on Sam’s lap, still tightly gripping her hand.

Kneeling by Ally’s feet, Charles noticed the increasing flow of fluid collecting around her sneakers. “Miss Ally, I need to lift up your dress so I can see what’s happening with the baby, is that all right?”

Ally nodded her head. “I don’t go for guys,” she gasped, gritting her teeth, “But your voice sounds like warm tea and honey, it’s really nice.” She shuddered, bracing for another contraction. “You’re really lucky you get to listen to that every day.” Ally looked up at Sam. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

Sam shook her head. “It’s okay,” she did her best to comfort Ally even though a million claxons were ringing in her brain. “I guess the baby wanted to be born today. Do you have a name picked out?”

“Tom, Thomas David, after Donna’s grandfather. H-he always went by Wilt’ though,” Ally laughed, inhaling sharply before releasing another groan.

Charles raised the hem of Ally’s dress, helping her remove her underwear as she propped her foot against him, heel digging into his shoulder. He blanched slightly, taking a deep cleansing breath of his own before looking up at Ally and Sam. “I don’t see the head,” to which Ally screamed, feeling the urge to push, “Oh wait, there it is.” Charles repositioned Ally’s foot, supporting himself against the nearby wall. “With your next contraction, Ally, take a deep breath and push.”

Ally nodded vigorously, taking deep, gulping breaths before she bore down and pushed, pulling her knee up to her chest while pushing her other foot against Charles.

It was a different side Sam had never expected to see, watching Charles coach Ally through several more pushes before a loud cry filled her ears, tears in her eyes upon seeing him hold Thomas David and bringing him to Ally’s outstretched arms. _I must’ve looked smaller than that,_ she contemplated, seeing the baby wail defiantly. Sam was often told she was a miracle baby, having survived despite being born prematurely at five and half months. But she felt she witnessed a different kind of miracle, watching the tenderness and almost longing on Charles’ face as he helped place the baby on Ally’s chest.

“He’s a strong lad,” Charles congratulated Ally, covering the baby with his jacket and rubbing the cloth against his back as Thomas David cried even louder in protest.

“Thank you, both of you.” Ally looked up at Charles and Sam in gratitude. Suddenly the elevator jolted back to life, completing its journey to the underground parking garage. With service restored, Sam helped Ally call her family, while Charles got a hold of security and emergency services to get Ally and Thomas David to recover on the Maternal-Child unit.

“Well that was unexpected.” Sam turned to Charles as the team of hospital personnel transferred Ally and her son back into the hospital. “Y-you were incredible back there-” She paused, concerned to see Charles turn pale, stiffly walk towards the nearest trash can and throw up. Sam rushed over, running her hands up and down his back while he braced himself against the metal bin, his shoulders trembled as the adrenaline wore off.

“That,” Charles huffed, standing upright, “Was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done. I mean, I helped my grandpappy with lambing season on his farm, but human childbirth is very different compared to sheep.” He raised an eyebrow at the giggles escaping Samara’s lips.

Sam smiled sheepishly, “I’m just surprised,” she shrugged, “I mean, I was scared but I didn’t know you were too.” She opened her purse and handed a couple tissues to Charles.

“I most certainly was scared,” he confessed, wiping his face. “Usually in those situations, it’s best to be as calm as possible even if I wanted to claw our way out of the elevator. A lot of things could’ve gone wrong, but I’m glad it turned out okay.” Charles looked down at his and Samara’s clothes, stained with amniotic fluid and who knew what else from the afterbirth. “We’re quite a mess, aren’t we?”

“Nothing a good bath and dry cleaning can’t fix.” Sam smiled, pulling her arm through his. “Let’s go home.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Jones.” Charles lightly teased at the immediate flush on Sam’s face, tossing the crumpled tissues and leading them back to the parked car.

“Well, it’s good to know how you’ll be during childbirth.” Sam clicked in her seatbelt, hands resting on her belly.

“I am perfectly content to be by your side and let the doctors and midwives handle the rest.” Charles shuddered as he pulled out of the parking lot and made their way back to the apartment. He considered tossing their clothes into the trash bin, unfortunate bystanders from today’s events, but found himself perfectly distracted when Samara pulled him into the bathroom, wanting to show her appreciation for his heroics with a hot, steamy bath. 

\---

“The midwife said it was fine to continue any exercise I did prior to the pregnancy.”

“I don’t think Ms. Q had this in mind,” Charles gestured to the fencing arena as they approached the _piste_. 

“You said so yourself, Charles, it’s a good way to keep up my stamina.” Sam adjusted the sleeves of her jacket before putting on her gloves. For the first time in weeks, she felt well enough to go to the fencing club, not overcome with nausea or completely drained of energy. The first trimester fatigue was no joke. Sam remembered several early nights spent in Charles’ arms when he carried her to bed after discovering her passed out in the living room.

“Bunty please, I don’t like the thought of weapons, even blunted ones, near you in any shape or manner.” He knew of other female athletes, amateur and professional, who continued to compete while still in the early stages of their pregnancies. But he couldn’t help himself from worrying over any potential direct contact to Sam’s torso, her condition still well hidden underneath the layers of her uniform.

“So overprotective.” She clucked, “Is that why you insisted on being my partner tonight?” 

“If you insist on sparring,” Charles stood on his end of the strip, “Who better than your personal instructor?” 

Sam smirked, “You have made your _point_ ,” gesturing with her epee, “Now let me make mine,” she saluted, Charles returning the gesture, “ _En garde_!” 

They donned their masks and assumed a ready stance, “ _Pret_ ?” Charles called to Samara, who gave a firm nod. “ _Allez_!” She lunged forward, surprising Charles with the simple attack easily countered with his parry. Whenever they sparred, Charles was the first to engage, but he was both pleased and distressed seeing her take the initiative. He defended feint after feint, sharply rapping her blade with a simple beat. 

It maddened her, knowing Charles was conscientiously holding himself back more than usual, out of concern for her and the baby’s safety. So Sam continued her assault while he sidestepped her movements, countering each thrust of her foil with a parry and riposte. She check-stepped and attempted to execute a _flèche_ maneuver, only to lose her footing and stumble forward, hands stretched outward to brace her fall.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Charles dropped his foil and caught Samara. “Are you hurt anywhere?” He examined her quickly while she sighed exasperatedly. “Did you get dizzy or nauseous?”

“Charles, I’m fine, I just tripped.” Sam blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness of the fencing club when Charles removed her mask, enmeshed blue eyes roving over her frame. “You’re gonna turn gray before the baby arrives. You can’t catch me every time I fall.” 

“You once said I’m always there to catch you and as long as I’m near, I will.” He helped her onto her feet. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He could now sympathize with her father wanting to put her into a hamster ball during her childhood. And immediately balked at finding common ground with his employer over their mutual overprotectiveness.

Hearing his voice edged with worry, Sam held Charles’ hand, “I’m okay, promise,” giving his gloved fingers a quick squeeze, “I could use a quick bathroom break.” She felt her bladder shrinking with each passing day, feeling like she needed to go every hour with the amount of fluid she had to drink to stay hydrated. “We can go over drills when I get back and then maybe one more match?” She pleaded. 

“...Fine,” Charles relented, giving into Samara’s compromise. “Hurry back.” His heart squeezed when Samara smiled, planting a quick kiss on his mask as she rushed over to the women’s locker room. He took off his mask and watched her retreating form, grabbing his water bottle (That he really brought for Samara if she was thirsty or falling behind on her hydration schedule) and taking several sips.

“So it’s true then?” Charles turned to see Eva Lawson. “You married your boss’ daughter? Your _assistant_ ?” His lips pressed into a thin line. Although his staff were aware of his and Samara’s marital status (Sun-Kwang, of all people, won the current betting pool when Mr. Young would discover their ‘ _secret romance_.’ Sun-Kwang, his mam and now Samara had a shared affinity for Korean dramas), it appeared the news was starting to spread amongst their associates. “I never thought of you as a cliché. I thought you were better than that. Are you hoping to take over the company now that you’ve shagged and snagged the heir apparent to Young Industries?”

“It’s not like that, Ms. Lawson,” Charles replied in clipped tones. 

“Does she know?” Eva took a step closer, “Who you’ve been with? The things you like?” She stood now inches from him, her voice barely a whisper. “How good it was between us? Can she even satisfy you?” 

“What goes on between me and my _wife_ ,” Charles emphasized as he stepped away to maintain his distance, “Stays between us. It isn’t your concern.”

“My family’s firm handles their estate, so yes, it is my concern.” Eva countered. “If you’re not after her money, then how did she end up with you, the man who claims to despise commitment, emotional attachments? What else could she possibly give you?” What did Samuel Young’s miracle baby have that she didn’t? _Why her?_ “Don’t tell me you love her.” _Why not me?_

“She is the most important person in my life.” Charles could admit that to himself. “The _only_ one in my life. And that’s all you need to know.” 

Eva knew from the finality in his voice that he meant it. And it ate away at her. That mousy girl she once discovered her brother snuggling in his hospital bed, catching the eye of one of the most desirable men in the city. Her eyes narrowed disapprovingly. “If she bores you, you know where to find me.” She immediately regretted the words as soon as they flew past her lips, her insecurities threatening to break through the surface. 

“That isn’t necessary and highly inappropriate.” Charles countered, refusing to be baited, azure eyes flashing with irritation and impatience. “I meant what I said, I did enjoy our time together. But nothing more can come from it. Please do not approach me like this again, Ms. Lawson.”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Eva had heard the rumors, the hushed conversations among the law firm. How unfortunate it was for Samuel Young, unable to protect his daughter’s inheritance with a prenuptial agreement before her hasty marriage to his General Manager. Why they had to get married in the first place. But her suspicions were confirmed after she saw their earlier interaction, how Charles practically leapt to catch the YoungTech heiress when she fell, how he looked at her when she entered the locker room, his eyes following her every movement. How he _never_ looked at her like that. “I know you can be traditional, but that’s ridiculous, even for you. Marrying her to what, protect her virtue? Her reputation?”

“We found out after we got married. If it’s any consolation to you.” Charles saw Samara return to the arena, walking towards them. “I think it would be best to end this discussion, Ms. Lawson, before you embarrass yourself any further.” Charles felt his shoulders relax as Samara greeted him with a beaming smile.

“I swear it takes longer to get out than into these uniforms,” Sam joked, noticing Marshall’s sister. “Hello, Eva,” she greeted politely. She had seen the raven-haired spitfire every now and then at the fencing club and would catch her gaze, pointed and glaring at Charles. Now aware of their shared history from Charles’ unintentional confession in Vegas, Sam assumed that was the reason for her caustic stares. “How are you?”

“I was hoping to go for a round with Charles,” Eva replied, a faint smile on her features, “He’s the only one who can keep up with me on the _piste._ But I guess he’s got his hands full with you.” She turned and gave an offhanded wave, “Enjoy your evening.”

When Eva was well out of earshot, Sam whispered, “Well that wasn’t awkward at all,” relieved at the vanishing tension, “Running into your ex.” She inwardly snickered at Charles’ flustered expression. 

“She’s not my ex,” Charles huffed, “We never dated, just saw each other...casually.” He gave up, realizing there was no way to explain without sounding like a complete scoundrel. Transactions and deposits. 

Sam relented. After all weren’t she and Charles in the exact same situation? Except he was now forcibly attached to her. “It was before me.”

“And none since.” Charles reaffirmed quietly, seeking Samara’s gloved hand in his.

This was unfamiliar territory for both of them, stuck in a bizarre holding pattern where they _were_ but also _were not_ together. Yet somehow, because of their absurd shared circumstance, they found comfort in each other. After all, better with two than none at all. 

But was it enough? It was the same question Sam had asked herself every time Charles held her hand, put socks on her feet (the only part of her that was always cold) whenever she fell asleep while reading in bed, or looked at her like she was a fixed point in a turbulent storm. A safe harbor, unsure whether to stay or outrun the wind. Like how he was looking at her now. And she would tell herself that it was enough. There may come a day when it wouldn’t be, when she could no longer ignore the question, when she needed an answer. But for now, it was enough just to have Charles in her life. 

Sam squeezed Charles’s hand, then reached for her epee and put on her mask. “So,” she broke the silence with a wave of her sword. “Drills?” 

\---

“What do you have there?” Sam looked up from the book Lizzy had sent her via Alakazam while Charles handed her a warm mug of ginger tea and tucked the loosely draped blanket around her feet. The hot flashes and nausea had finally passed once she entered her second trimester. But other cravings had yet to abate, contemplating whether to order lamb kebabs or indulge herself with a different kind of meat she wished to devour.

“Your mom sent it to me,” Sam displayed the cover to Charles, **Baby Names from Around the World** , “I wanted to look up traditional Welsh names for the baby.” She confessed shyly, revealing the highlighted pages.

His heart might’ve somersaulted in his chest. “Any to your liking?” Charles attempted nonchalance, sitting next to Samara. They had rearranged the living room to include Samara’s sectional, replacing the loveseat and lounge chairs currently reallocated to the upstairs rooms, one serving as her office/gaming center and the other for the baby. He’d barely needed prompting to make the switch when she commented how difficult it would be for all three of them to sit comfortably on the small couch as she grew during the pregnancy. 

“Not sure if it’s a girl, but this one caught my eye for a boy,” Sam pointed to, _‘Owain - Knight of the Round Table, son of King Urien and husband of the Lady of the Fountain in Arthurian Legend. Variant of Owen.’_ “Marshall had sent me some sketches of a knight character for Evermake and I thought the name suited him, Sir Owain.” Sam referred to her nearby tablet, displaying the aforementioned sketches for Charles to scroll through.

When she opened the file and pulled up the mock renderings for a knight character, male and female, Sam was unsure if was the lingering fatigue (aside from the random bursts of energy whenever a _craving_ emerged) or the lighting, but she could’ve sworn she saw aspects of her and Charles in the character designs. Her brown hair, his blue eyes, her lips, his complexion. Could it be what her child would look like?

Charles had similar thoughts glancing at a page depicting character expressions that ranged from excitement blazing in his eyes, the bow of her lips pursed in concentration, to the angle of his jaw in a cocksure grin. “Owain is my grandfather’s name.” He smiled at the coincidence, imagining how reluctantly pleased the original cantankerous goat would be if he were to be the namesake of his great-grandchild. “My grandmother sometimes calls him _Oen_ whenever he’s in a mood or particularly churlish.”

“Isn’t _Oen_ another word for lamb?” Sam pictured an older, grumpier version of Charles being referred to by the misnomer.

“Yes, Bunty,” Charles kidded, chuckling at his family’s propensity towards lamb endearments. Which made sense given they raised sheep on the family farm.

“Maybe that’s what we should call the baby until we can decide on a name,” Sam sipped from her ginger tea before placing it on the coffee table, “Bunty,” she pointed to herself, then to Charles, “Cantankerous Old Goat,” grinning at his frown before motioning to her belly, “Oen.” 

His heart flipped, dove and rattled against his ribs. “Oen.” Charles repeated, gently placing his palm against Samara’s stomach. _Bunty’s got a little lamb._ “And how are you and Oen feeling this evening?” He kissed her shoulder, his fingertips gliding underneath her t-shirt (The oversized one from their Las Vegas adventure she sometimes wore as a tunic/nightgown around the apartment. And sometimes nothing underneath). 

“Quite well,” Sam set aside the book and nuzzled Charles affectionately, brushing her nose against his as he lazily traced circles along her bare skin. “But I could go for a snack.” She kissed him, lightly nipping his lower lip. 

“Anything you’re craving in particular?” His fingers skimmed the undersides of her breasts while continuing to kiss Samara, leisurely, indulgently. 

Sam contemplated as she sought his tongue, deepening the kiss and releasing a soft gasp when his fingers grasped her nipple, the bud hardening between the pads of his forefinger and thumb. She arched into his touch, grabbing his unoccupied hand and pressing it to her other unattended breast. “Lamb kebabs sound delicious, but I might be in the mood for _goat_ ,” Sam giggled while Charles smirked against her lips. 

“I thought you’d be satiated from earlier,” he teased, recalling her last serving of _‘goat’_ in the office, “You haven’t had your fill yet?”

“Starving,” Sam replied, shifting onto Charles’ lap, her thighs astride his. They kissed unhurriedly as Charles continued to palm her breasts before his hands moved downward, cupping her ass and bringing her closer so she sat directly on his growing erection. Feeling his fingers delineating around, alongside her entrance, Sam raised her hips and rocked against Charles’ hand. Slowly yet strongly, he pumped his fingers inside her, steadily drawing Sam towards her climax, electric and dazzling, crying out for him while her nails dug into his shoulder blades. He kissed her, coaxing her down gently onto the couch as she trembled against him. 

Charles sat up briefly before pressing a kiss on Samara’s upper thigh, nudging the hem of her shirt upward while tracing his lips and tongue along the exposed skin, inch by inch. He paused when he reached her abdomen, noting the slight curve of her belly, the little changes to her body as the baby, _Oen_ , grew inside of her. He placed soft, delicate kisses where he imagined Oen was, then suddenly, mischievously, blew several raspberries against Samara’s skin, causing her to laugh uncontrollably as she attempted a counterattack for his ticklish spots, swiftly removing his dark green henley. 

Charles attempted to pin Samara’s hands above her head to prevent her from reaching his sides, but she somehow had managed to break his hold and tickled his ribs, causing him to lose balance and fall onto his side, wheezing heavily. “Wait, wait,” he gasped, pulling Samara on top of him, “You win, I surrender.” Their positions switched, Samara hovered over Charles, a feral glint in her eye that he was becoming all too familiar with. Only to be surprised when she leaned down to return his earlier attack, blowing a raspberry against his collarbone causing them both to laugh raucously with Samara lying on top of him. 

It was silly and childish, but the lightness Charles felt seeing the mirth in her eyes, the joy in her smile, he could almost pretend this wasn’t an arrangement of convenience. Even if it was based on a lie. Even if it wasn’t meant to last once the baby was born. Secretly, selfishly, a part of him wanted to protect this small happiness for as long as he could. 

Charles was immediately roused from his thoughts when Samara sat upright and tossed her t-shirt aside. His hands were drawn to her waist, the digits nearly encircling her hourglass frame as he pulled Samara forward, her moans reverberating throughout the room while Charles’ tongue swirled and lightly tugged the nipple of each offered breast before him. He shifted his hips, brushing his erection, still hidden in his gray joggers, against her bare folds.

Sam writhed against Charles, his attentions turned to the hollow of her neck, applying a mixture of light suction and teeth along the thrum of her pulse. She shuddered, ensnared by the tendrils of heat from her core in contrast to the shivers from his fingertips trailing up and down her spine. Rolling downward, she pressed firmly against him, over and over until he rose to meet her, flipping her back onto the couch. Sam licked her tongue across her lips and yanked Charles’ sweatpants off, her hand wrapped around his exposed member.

Charles jerked sharply while Samara slid her fingers along his shaft. He kissed her roughly, attempting some semblance of control which only seemed to spur her on, doubling her efforts to undo him. He grabbed Samara’s hands once more, pinning them above her head with one hand as he drew his erection along her entrance, her moans muffled against his lips. 

Gripping her leg around his waist and aligning with her center, Charles tilted into her torturously, breath by breath, pausing whenever Sam tried to rush by wriggling forward, desperate for the fullness she craved. “Patience, dear,” he whispered, lowering his brow to hers. She pleaded, her voice tinged with frustration as he resumed his gradual descent, until at last, he was completely encased within her. He seemed to thrive off her growing impatience, once again moving sedately, his length fully entering and withdrawing from with long, deliberate strokes.

“Tell me,” Charles nibbled along her jawline, continuing his languorous pace, “Tell me what you want, _Mrs. Jones_.” He bit her earlobe, outlining the sensitive hollow of her ear.

Sam shivered and threw her other leg around his hip, locking her ankles together and pulling him forward, completely filling her once again. “I want _you_ ,” She emphasized, her pelvis meeting his, “To move faster.” She wanted to make him as wild as she felt, to let go of that dark, reckless edge he kept so tightly controlled, that she only saw glimpses of. “Take me, Charles” Sam threaded her fingers through his hair, capturing his lips, “Take me, now,” he inhaled sharply against her while she rocked against him, encouraging his thrusts to match her movements.

The delicate line between control and desire raged within him. His original intent of teasing her, provoking her, spiraled away as Samara murmured how much she wanted him, needed him, the tip of her tongue briefly meeting his before whispering, “Make me yours.” Charles crushed Samara against him in another fierce kiss, plunging into her at a brutal pace, the line completely erased.

Sam cried, “God, yes!” tightening around him and matching his frantic rhythm. “More,” she dug her nails into his back. “Charles, _please_ ,” she sobbed, clinging to him, nearly swept away as she raced towards her peak. 

Somewhere amid the tangle of limbs, lips, breaths, Charles’ fingers drifted to her clit, rubbing chaotic patterns across the bundle of nerves. He was close, dangerously close, wanting Samara to come before him, with him. But watching how her body arched back, reaching to drag their lips together while her darkened eyes locked with his gaze, his body stilled. Everything crashed before him when Samara commanded, “Look at me,” as he came, garnet orbs still fixed to his even as she followed him immediately after, the low sound of her pleasure vibrating against his lips.

They collapsed onto the couch. Charles uttered Sam’s name in hushed tones, cradling her face and peppering her with small kisses while she lay contentedly, liquid and languid in his embrace. Sam contemplated staying like this for the remainder of the evening until she felt something small and cold nudge her shoulder. 

Charles was alerted to Samara’s quiet exclamation, both turning their attention to Bowser sitting across. And staring directly at them. Granted he was a dog, but Charles wondered how much he had seen or if he somehow knew what they had done. He was rarely self-conscious, but felt increasingly uncomfortable seeing Bowser and his large, soulful brown eyes boring into them while they were naked and entangled on the sofa. 

“Maybe we should get dressed.” Sam suggested, fighting the urge to cover Bowser’s eyes or explain that she was playing a game with Charles (that just so happened to involve taking her clothes off). Charles handed her shirt back while he pulled on his joggers, helping her off the couch and wandering over to the kitchen (Charles laughed when Sam’s stomach grumbled as he predicted. She was often hungry after a _craving_ ) with Bowser circling around them.

\---

Charles was still taken aback every time he saw the seven-foot spruce in his living room. In all the time he lived here, he had never seen the apartment look so...festive. The holidays were always a difficult time for him, being away from home but also not wanting to return, the once happy memories marred by the bitter circumstances leading to his divorce, the proceedings finalized New Year’s Eve, his birthday and what was once his wedding anniversary. The beginning and ending of his marriage, come full circle. 

Thankfully, the past two weeks had blurred amidst the festivities. He was careful to avoid Samara’s doe eyes as best he was able (they had continued to grow incredibly potent). But squaring off against her and her mother, Charles was all but powerless, somehow agreeing to host the Young Christmas Feast at the apartment this year. Aside from the occasional glare from Samuel Squared, it was surprisingly, not terrible? 

The awkwardness of being an outsider, a stranger in their midst, clung to him like the morning fog, hazy and dense, but he appreciated the efforts of Samara’s family to include him (even if the other men present were coerced by Samantha, Samara and Ruth). He unexpectedly uncovered neutral ground with Mr. Young (He was and would remain Mr. Young indefinitely in Charles’ mind) when they discovered they had bought the same Calming Pupper Pod for Bowser while opening presents. Charles had offered to return his, but Mr. Young joked that his eldest grandchild could have a bed on every floor while Samantha teased how easily they spoiled him. _“If the two of you are this soft with Bowser, I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when the baby’s born.”_

Samantha proved to be correct, at least in this aspect, when they finished unwrapping, (at Mr. Young’s insistence) the baby’s presents now occupying the room next to Samara’s office. Charles was certain Mr. Young would’ve bought out the entire baby store if Samantha hadn’t reigned him in. Between the crib he needed to set up, books, blankets, stuffed animals, and clothes, he could only surmise the sheer volume of items they would receive when Samara was closer to her due date.

Speaking of, Charles walked up to the master bedroom with a tray of tea (earl grey and lavender) and sandwiches, watching Samara indecisively pack for their upcoming trip to Wales, surrounded by piles of discarded clothes. “We’re only going to be there for little over a week, Samara,” he set the tray in front of her, encouraging her to eat. Samara had spent most of the morning deciding on what to bring, but judging by the relatively empty suitcase, she hadn’t made much progress.

“I know, but,” Sam gestured to clothes scattered on the bed, “None of the clothes I want to bring fit, and the clothes that do are so...frumpy.” She frowned hearing Charles stifle a laugh. She had come a long ways from baggy, ill-fitting sweaters and taping up her mirror, unable to reconcile the child she saw from the woman she actually was. “I just wanna make a good impression on your mom, your grandparents and the rest of your family.” They were pretending, but she still wanted to be seen as someone who could be with Charles, his peer, his partner. His wife.

“Bunty, they’re going to adore you,” Charles sat on the bed. “My mother already does, I can only imagine what secrets she’s passed onto you without my knowing. But it will be cold, so pack layers.” His eyes caught a silver frame peeking from underneath a cream cable sweater. Charles picked it up, equally amused and apprehensive, seeing the portrait of him, Samara and Bowser by the Christmas tree, all three in matching [ sweaters ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1NLHES_YgRF2W5YIklnYi6jnkUOwqkgLu/view?usp=sharing). 

It was the kind of picture he would have typically disregarded as cheesy and overdone. And he was initially reluctant to partake when he unwrapped the matching sweater sets from Samantha, who insisted they change so she could take their _first family_ Christmas photo. But looking at the picture, Charles holding Bowser, his hand resting on Samara’s hip, her baby bump more pronounced as she slightly turned towards him while resting her hand on her lower abdomen; they looked like a family. 

Again. Again, he was nearly overtaken by the emotions in his heart, everything threatening to spill forth. The things he wanted to protect, clashing with the impulses he wanted to destroy, the peacefulness that wasn’t meant to last.

From the corner of her eye, Sam saw Charles holding the silver picture frame her mother gave her, “Oh you found it,” she turned towards him after finishing her sandwich. “I was thinking about giving it to your mom or your grandparents, but I wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea considering,” Sam paused when she saw Charles’ head turned downward, shoulders hunched, “Charles,” she stood in front of him, “What’s wrong?” Sam felt his arms around her waist, resting his head against her torso. 

“Just let me stay like this. _Please_.” Charles’ voice was muffled by Samara’s sweatshirt, his lips in contact with the thick fabric. “I just need a minute.” 

Sam’s eyes widened, startled at Charles’ response to the photo her mom had taken of them at Christmas. But then she had been quite emotional that morning when she put the photo in the frame and purposefully hid it under the sweater avalanche to stop herself from being weepy before Charles came up the stairs. It was a terrible joke, really. Looking like a real family when it was farthest from the truth. 

Seeing them both conflicted over the photo, Sam considered the question, _Is this enough?_ But was unable to ask, her lips tightening around the unspoken words, unsure how Charles would respond in this vulnerable state. Would he shut down and keep her out? Or would the last of his frozen walls finally collapse and he would let her in? Unprepared for the truth, Sam lay her head on top of Charles’, running her fingers through his feathered blonde hair in calming motions. _Just a little longer_ , she told herself. She could keep pretending just a little longer. 

“As you wish.”

\---

_And even if I could_

_I wouldn't turn on you_

_And I would stop the world for you, you know_

_I wanna let you know, I'll never let this feeling go_

_This love has no ceiling, I cannot deny_

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh Translations:  
> Oen: Lamb
> 
> Japanese Translations:  
> Doki-Doki: Heart beating quickly, usually with anticipation or excitement


	8. Open Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Somewhere across the Atlantic]
> 
> Narrator's Voice: Charles Jones  
> Charles: (Half-asleep in First Class) What the hell?  
> Narrator's Voice: The dashing man from Wales who seems to have it all, the luxury apartment, the job, the looks, the girls, the life. Until one day, fate had other plans.  
> Charles: This is a dream, right?  
> Narrator's Voice: After a secret affair resulting in a Las Vegas wedding and unexpected pregnancy, Jones now finds himself flying home to confront the ghosts of Christmas Past.  
> Charles: This can't be real.  
> Narrator's Voice: This holiday season, find out if Charles can learn from his past and discover the missing piece in his life or be doomed to a life of loneliness and regret.  
> Charles: Doomed? Wait, what?  
> Sam: Charles are you okay?  
> Charles: Ah, just bad dreams, Bunty.
> 
> Ah, but in case our heroes stand one little chance, asking for the jackpot question in advance, what are you doing New Year's Eve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always and forever thanks to my beta/twin/soul sis/eagle to my bambi/Dr. Drake Ramoray to my Ms. Chanandler Bong, IntoTheGallifray! Closing out the holiday season on our fav Welsh noble idiot's birthday, bringing us out of 2020 into 2021, off into the Wales Arc! (Insert standard warning for Mature/Explicit Content)

Chapter 8: Open Your Eyes

\---

_Get up, get out, get away from these liars_

_'Cause they don't get your soul or your fire_

_Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine_

_And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time_

_Every minute from this minute now_

_We can do what we like anywhere_

_I want so much to open your eyes_

_'Cause I need you to look into mine_

_\---_

Sam glanced out the window as they drove along the expressway, snow-covered hills giving way to the northern coast and the Irish Sea. It had been a whirlwind of a trip thus far, flying from California to Ireland to Manchester, then getting into their rental car and headed towards their final destination, Llandudno Junction. Her mind was preoccupied not only with the anticipation of meeting Charles’ family in-person (she had spoken to Lizzy on video chat before they boarded their connecting flight to Manchester) but with the presentation they gave to Indigineer just before they left for Wales. 

All in all, it seemed to have gone well with her as the lead this go round. She stumbled a few times and only felt lightheaded once. But Charles was there, silently encouraging her, just as he’d promised, and she was bolstered by his presence. And maybe she imagined it, but it did feel as if the Indigineer staff were more receptive to her enthusiasm towards implementing the proposed client software from YoungTech and her recommendations for improving their platform. But they wouldn’t find out which company, YoungTech or Sontaranian Enterprises, had won the bid until well after the New Year. Both Charles and her dad said she had done an excellent job (her dad had given her a near bone-crushing congratulatory hug; Charles had shown his appreciation later that evening with massage oils and a selected assortment from Monica’s wedding present), but her thoughts kept wandering back to the presentation, what she could’ve done differently, what would happen if they were or weren’t selected.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” Charles silently recoiled at the slip of the tongue, which seemed to land him deeper and deeper into his personal pit of despair. He could imagine his inner demon and angel battling out against one another, _protect_ , _destroy_ , _protect._

Sam tried to ignore the tally that sprung to mind whenever Charles introduced a new nickname (Bunty, **My Dear** , _Mrs. Jones_ ) and the mini siren that rang (Code Pink! Code Pink! Code Pink!) when **_that_ ** word passed his lips. She tried to downplay it, tempering her racing heart by opening the car window and breathing in the sea and the winter winds as they cruised along the coastline. _Perfectly normal_ , she told herself. 

Everyone had been calling her **_love_ ** since they made their connection flight in Dublin, from the gate agents, flight attendants, even the car rental place in Manchester. But how her heart leapt when Charles said it. And he had said it several times over the course of their trip (rousing from his sleep just before they landed in Manchester, asking if she filled out her customs forms, offering her the one cup of coffee she was allowed each day) but attributed it to sleep deprivation (There was the _one_ time after her surprise bachelorette party, but alcohol-induced endearments were also exempt). She and Charles were both exhausted and looking forward to lying down on a flat surface and not being disturbed for several hours. “Just pre-meeting jitters.” 

Charles hummed thoughtfully, “Well I do recall what helped you the last time you had pre-meeting jitters.”

Sam faintly smiled, “You mean when we were almost late to the Indigineer meeting?” (Of course **‘late** , **’** according to Charles, was ‘ **on-time** ’ and ‘ **on-time** ’ was fifteen minutes prior). When his hands, his fingers firm and possessive, were on her, _in her_ , telling her to have courage before facing down her foe. She had believed her thoughts would’ve been muddled and disorganized, but was surprisingly clear-minded when she strode into the conference room, still anxious but the nervous shakes kept at bay. “If we tried that now, we’d fall asleep as soon as we lie down.”

“Who said anything about lying down?” Charles smirked while Samara lightly batted his shoulder. “I told you,” he clasped her hand before Samara withdrew, kissing her knuckles, “They’re going to adore you.” Charles continued to hold her hand, briefly letting go to shift gears as the road sloped and curved along the cost, before enclosing her fingers with his once more.

The coastal views gradually moved back to the snow-covered hills, winding roads, stone and brick cottages, farms with sheep and cows dotting the landscape. They even stopped to allow a herd of sheep cross while a young man and his border collie apologized for the inconvenience. Soon enough, they reached Llandudno Junction, passing row after row of snug homes and shops until they drove up to a brick house with a stone fence.

Parking in the driveway, Charles turned to Samara and brought his fingertips to her knitted brow, smoothing away the lines of concentration. “You’ll be brilliant, Bunty. Just be your wonderfully charming self, and they’ll fall head over heels.”

Sam lowered her head, nestling against his palm. “I thought you were supposed to be the charming one.”  
  
“Alas, they are all immune to my powers of persuasion.” He ran his thumb across her cheek, “Which is why you’re my secret weapon.” 

“You mean your saving grace when facing your family who you haven’t seen in years.” Sam pointed out, imagining the barrage of questions and inquiries they would encounter from Charles’ extended family arriving for his grandparents’ vow renewal.

“My sword and shield,” Charles smiled softly, “I might need rescuing, they can be a rambunctious lot. Promise you’ll protect me?”

“Always.” Charles lifted her chin and pulled Sam into a gentle kiss, before bunting his forehead to hers and exiting the car to unload their luggage. Sam remained in the passenger seat, alone with her thoughts. 

_Always_ , the word echoed in her mind. She had meant to tease Charles, their earlier exchange not dissimilar to when she’d first brought him to her parents’ house. But this time, it seemed to carry more weight. Because somewhere deep within her heart, she meant it. 

_Always._ She wanted to protect this man, who at first glance, was cold and detached, devious and cunning, fierce and obstinate. But also kind and gentle, clever and mischievous, passionate and devoted. A man of dualities and contradictions in efforts to keep others at a distance and preserve his still-healing heart. She wanted to defend him from his strongest critics, care for him when he neglected himself, lov-

In the quiet, the stillness, the answer came to her, crystalized in the icy air. It was as if the tumblers of a lock fell into place, opening a chest and exposing the truth in the fading light of the winter afternoon. It wasn’t like the movies, novels, or anything she had seen or read. There was no fanfare, no surge of overwhelming emotion, or grand realizations. It was simply the truth within the truth. The truth that had always been with her. Absolute and certain. 

Until she was roused from her thoughts when Charles tapped on her window, eying her curiously. Sam grabbed her things and opened the passenger door. Her face flushed, blazing despite the outside chill and nearly stumbled out of the car, nodding absent-mindedly when he asked her if she was alright.

“Are you sure?” Charles handed Samara her luggage then pressed the back of his palm to her forehead. “You seem feverish. It was a long flight and you might have over-exerted yourself. You should rest as soon as we get inside.”

Sam waved him off, dismissing his concerns as hers steadily grew. Charles was so perceptive and she was a terrible liar, he was sure to discover the truth she wished to keep hidden for now. She tried not to make direct eye contact with him, strolling up the pathway to the front entrance with her carry-on bag and luggage while Charles followed behind her with the other suitcases. 

_Two truths and a lie,_ Sam took a quick breath, in and out, watching the small formed clouds dissipate into the air. She was Charles’ wife and they were expecting a baby. They loved each other, willing to risk the ire and disapproval of her family with a whirlwind romance and Las Vegas wedding. What Charles didn’t need to know was how much it had become the truth than a lie. 

Charles caught up to Samara, standing in front of his childhood home. He reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers together, a united front. “Ready?” Samara nodded in agreement as he rang the doorbell, the deep chimes announcing their arrival.

Within several moments, the front door opened, revealing a (what Sam imagined was perfectly textbook) pleasantly plump woman of short stature with fading blonde hair and blue eyes, glittering and sharp. “ _Prynhawn Da,_ Lizzy,” Sam greeted her mother-in-law who encircled her in a tight embrace.

“Oh give us a _cwtch_ , lamb,” Lizzy exclaimed. “Let me look at you,” she leaned back and pressed her warm palms to Sam’s face, “I was starting to worry, you said you’d be here an hour ago.” Lizzy looked sharply at her son.

“Ran into some traffic leaving Manchester and detained by sheep, a stray flock blocking the road.” Charles countered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his mam’s insistence he could have called ahead. “May we enter? I’m sure Samara and the baby would appreciate warming by the fire.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Lizzy grasped Sam’s hand and tugged her inside, pulling her away from Charles while he brought the rest of their luggage into the house. “Let me grab your coat, love, and a pair of slippers,” She helped Sam out of her thick down jacket, tossing it on a coat rack and handing her a pair of cozy sherpa slippers in exchange for her duck boots. Lizzy then led her to the sitting room where a fireplace crackled cheerfully, the flames warm and bright. “Water closet’s just down the hall,” Lizzy pointed to an adjacent hallway, “Then you can make yourself comfortable while I make us a pot of tea. I imagine you must be tired and hungry after your long journey.” 

Sam was relieved for her shrinking bladder and excited seeing the spread of sandwiches, scones and jam, and other treats Lizzy had prepared for afternoon tea. Quickly refreshing herself, Sam returned to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and smell of burning firewood. Lizzy returned with a brass kettle and mugs on a serving tray, ushering Sam to sit on the sofa.

Charles made his way downstairs after dropping off the suitcases and bags in his old room. Initially, he made plans to stay at a hotel or a nearby rental, but Mam insisted they stay with her during their visit. Putting away his coat and slipping on a pair of worn moccasins, Charles headed to the sitting room. He stood in the archway, leaning against the wood panel as he quietly watched his mam and his wife animatedly discuss the most recent episode of the Kdrama series they were following together. 

“He was being a prat, wasn’t he?” Lizzy commented on the actions of the male lead. “How could he think he was acting in her best interests if he didn’t even tell her about his genetic disease?”

“Classic noble idiot,” Sam shook her head, “He thinks he’s sparing her from pain, but doesn’t even take into account how she feels or believes she would stay with him despite it.”

“Typical male lead weakness, vulnerability and lingering emotional baggage.” Lizzy clucked while refilling Sam’s mug and placing another sandwich on her plate. Without looking up, she said, “Kit, will you stop lurking in the corner and join us?”  
  
Sam turned her attention to Charles, astonished at Lizzy’s observation skills. She didn’t even hear him approach. _That look again,_ Sam noted the guarded expression on Charles’ face. Fear? Longing? _Will you stay or will you go?_

Charles had been mulling over his thoughts, how bizarre, almost jarring seeing Samara and his mam talk amicably, not unlike how she used to gossip with Gweneth whenever they came back for an afternoon visit. He knew they were different people, he knew the circumstances were completely different. But he had difficulty reconciling the two images, the discordant past with the here and now. This was one of the reasons why he avoided going home all these years, unsure whether enough time had passed, whether he was certain he wouldn’t be incapacitated by the memories of another life. When he earnestly believed in true love and miracles and the inherent goodness in others without suspicion of malice or agenda. 

Charles withdrew from his introspection and entered the sitting room. “I apologize, my mind was elsewhere.” He sat across in the armchair where he often spent as a child, reading, puzzle-solving. Studying with his classmates. Christmas mornings and Happy Birthdays. He brushed aside the ghosts of Christmases past and selected a sandwich and a few biscuits to indulge his mam. Charles was more tired than hungry, but it would’ve been rude to decline her hospitality.  
  
“It best not be work-related, it’s your first holiday in ages.” Lizzy chided while pouring him a cup of tea, dash of milk and two sugar cubes as he preferred, “Sit with us a bit then you can go down for a kip. I know you’re quite knackered after that long trip. He can get cranky when he doesn’t sleep properly,” she whispered, loudly and non-discretely to Sam, who laughed at the obvious irritation on Charles’ face. As much as she enjoyed teasing her _bach_ , Lizzy was chuffed to have him home with his new wife and babe on the way. 

No matter how far he may wander, she would always worry after her Kit. And although it vexed her whenever he gave a ready excuse not to return home for the holidays, she knew it was because there was still too much pain awaiting him, engraved in every turn and corner of what was once home. But seeing him now with Sam, _this_ Sam, how his gaze softened whenever his eyes were drawn to her, tenderness etched into every feature; Lizzy thought, _Perhaps_ . Perhaps time was starting to move forward again for her _fy machgen_ , who seemed to be frozen in place, unable to fully recover if he remained shackled to the past. 

Charles wasn’t the only one left in the wake of the destructive actions of _that pair_. Lizzy had loved them like her own, countless memories stretching throughout the years. But she had time to sort through her grief, her loss. It was unavoidable in a small community like this, their parents still lived in town and she would encounter them at church, the Tesco and the city council where _her_ mother was still city councilwoman whenever Lizzy was brought on to discuss school matters. Life had to continue, even if nothing could go back to how it was. She could only hope the same for Charles.

\---

Sam threw herself onto the bed, stretching contentedly on the quilted spread. Turning onto her side, she looked around what was once Charles’ childhood room. A bookshelf stacked with countless tomes, the shelves decorated with trophies from fencing and chess tournaments, Lego models of planets and a spaceship. Glancing at the bedside table, Sam picked up a photo of Charles and his family on graduation day. “I can’t believe this is you,” she pointed to the sunny youth surrounded by his mother, grandparents, and other relatives.

“Really?” Charles asked, seeing how neat and tidy his room was, not a speck of dust with everything in its proper place. Minus a picture frame or mementos occupying some dusty forgotten bin. “Why is that?”

“You’re smiling for one.” 

Charles’ mouth quirked as he strode towards the bed while Samara tried to move quickly to the opposite side, bursting with laughter when he caught her by the waist and snatched the photo from her grasp. “Why Mrs. Jones, are you implying I’m some kind of miser?”

“Says the cantankerous old goat,” Sam playfully stuck her tongue out before discovering she was pinned to the bed. Charles bent down, capturing her in a soft kiss. Her arms encircled his neck and pulled him close, shifting her body under his.

Charles reluctantly parted from Samara when he felt her tongue dart against him, setting the framed picture back on the dresser. “I thought you said we’d fall asleep as soon as we got into bed?” He swept her bangs away from her face.

“I think parts of you are still awake,” Sam teased, rolling her hips against Charles’, grinning at the familiar firmness pressing into her thigh. 

“Nothing would please me more than to please you, love,” Charles kissed her brow then moved to lie beside her, “But Mam is still downstairs and this is a very noisy, creaky old house. It took considerable effort to sneak out at night, even though she caught me on the way back every time. Hardly anything gets past that old bird.”

All naughty thoughts fell out of Sam’s head, replaced again by the bright, glittering letters of L-O-V-E. Her cheeks tinged pink, she sat up and went to open her carry-on suitcase, selecting a small box hidden discreetly beneath her things. Hiding the present behind her back, Sam sat back on the bed, Charles curiously following her movements. “I know we missed it with the time difference and flying out on the day of, but,” she held out the crimson-wrapped box, “Happy Belated Birthday Charles.”

Apprehensive but also too polite to turn down Samara’s gesture (he could picture his mam, the epitome of stern headmistress decreeing, _“Manners maketh man!”_ while instilling good manners and civility into every fiber of his being), Charles sat up and accepted the gift. He carefully opened the decorative wrapping paper, then lifted the box’s lid to reveal a navy ballpoint pen engraved with a blazing phoenix feather. Recognizing the manufacturer and mentally calculating the price of a custom work, Charles looked up, “Bunty, you didn’t have to, this is too much-”

“Too much?” Sam sat next to Charles, curling her fingertips around his hand, “After everything you’ve done to support me, to support us?” She motioned to Oen. “I just wanted to show you how... how much you mean to me, how happy I am to have you in my life,” the words were escaping faster than her thoughts.

“I know you don’t like to celebrate it,” he had so many painful memories associated with that day, but Sam hoped she could give him at least one happy thought, “But it’s a special day for me, because it’s the day you were born,” she smiled, “Even with this weird situation we’re in,” she laughed, placing her other palm against Charles’ cheek, “I’m thankful you’re here, and I’m so glad I met you.”

Charles leaned into her touch and kissed her palm. “Me too.” He gently nipped her fingertips before embracing her, resting his head in the crook of her neck, hoping to dampen the rush of emotions, the burst of warmth blazing throughout. And failing spectacularly as he breathed deeply to center himself, only for his senses to be filled with the smell of cherry blossoms and burnt firewood. Of _her._ “Thank you, Samara.” _I’m so glad I met you._

They stayed like this for several moments, Charles holding Sam close while she ran her hands up and down his back. “We should go down for that kip, or at least give your mom enough time to finish making your belated birthday cake.” She yelped when Charles tipped them back onto the bed.

“You are full of surprises, Bunty.” Charles murmured as they repositioned themselves on the mattress, Samara on her side while Charles draped his arm around her waist. He couldn’t help but smile when she brought his hand to rest on her lower abdomen, their fingers loosely entwined. Although it was one of the coldest months in Wales, Charles closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, thinking how it was the warmest he felt in so long.

====

“Are you sure you’re not cold, Samara?”  
  
Sam looked up at Charles, momentarily distracted from finishing the ice cream she insisted on having after eating what were, she had to admit, the best fish and chips she’d had thus far, in an unassuming shop tucked in an alleyway between two storefronts. After spending the morning sightseeing around Conwy (visiting Conwy Castle, Quay House (the smallest house in the world), and Conwy Quay, watching small boats come in and out of the harbor), she’d wanted to go to the fish and chips place Charles had told her about during their dinner in the Snug. 

_Charles looked at her in surprise, “You remember that?”_

_“Of course,” Sam attempted casually, not wanting to reveal how it remained as one of her favorite memories. “That was our first date.”_

_“We had chips,” Charles smiled, unsure if his face was reddened by the cold or unexpectedly touched at Samara’s recollection from what felt like ages ago before their situation so drastically changed. “Well then,” he extended his gloved hand to Samara. “Allons-y!”_

They had emerged with two takeaways of freshly fried cod and chips courtesy of Lee, the shop owner, with promises of returning to the chippery before they returned to the States. Afterwards, they stopped by the ice cream parlor (Panna Cotta for Charles and Chocolate Cherry Chunk for Sam) with a free hot chocolate from Leah, the manager and Charles’ former classmate, and another promise to return for a fudge sampler.

“I’m alright, but I might want some of that hot chocolate when I’m done.” Sam quietly observed, noticing the occasional glance as they walked down the street. She had seen similar reactions when they had visited the chippery and the ice cream parlor. And similar responses from Lee and Leah when they accidentally mentioned Charles’ former companions, his ex-wife and his ex-best friend. Charles had taken it in stride, hiding behind cool politeness as they exited the shops. He had told her Llandudno Junction and the nearby towns were a small community, but it seemed that small-town gossip was the same anywhere in the world. “I guess I hadn’t really considered what it meant for you to come back home.”

Charles nearly dropped the hot chocolate in surprise upon hearing Samara voicing his inner thoughts. Was there a bubble above his head, depicting his internal musings not unlike a comic strip? He rubbed his eyes, clearly he was still a little jetlagged. He knew there would be talk about him coming back home with his new wife (After seeing Leah, the news was bound to spread like wildfire before evening supper), but he hadn’t considered what his response would be whenever someone mentioned his ex-wife and ex-best friend.

“I was nervous, still nervous about meeting your family. But also excited to visit a new country,” Sam confessed, “I haven’t really travelled much outside the U.S., aside from visiting my grandparents a couple times in Quebec. But from what you’ve told me,” _the little that you’ve told me_ , Sam brushed the thought away, “It probably isn’t easy being back here.” 

“I can handle town gossip,” Charles had seen the curious stares as they wandered towards a nearby park, “But I appreciate your concern, Bunty.” 

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” Sam tossed the empty ice cream cup into a trash bin, taking the offered hot chocolate from Charles.

“It’s a good thing then, I have you to protect me.” He leaned over and placed a quick peck on Samara’s lips, hoping to erase the concerned look on her face with a distracting kiss. 

“Always.” Sam replied as she withdrew, surprised at the open display of affection. If people hadn’t noticed before, they probably would now. 

Feeling a series of vibrations in his pocket, Charles pulled out his phone, scanning through the text and email notifications. “Looks like they had to do a last minute venue change for my grandparents’ rehearsal dinner,'' he texted a quick reply to his mam, “We still have some time before we have to head back, anywhere else you’d like to go?” 

Sam slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow, “Well there was a secondhand bookstore I saw next to the ice cream parlor…” 

\---

Sam quickly wiped her palms on her velvet skirt before seeking Charles’ hand, taking comfort in how his fingers enclosed around hers. Although they had met with Charles’ grandparents while visiting the family farm (Charles had shown her the fields and meadows where the sheep grazed, and she’d cried when Owain showed her a miniature sweater with tiny sheep knitted along the collar after telling his grandparents they were going to be great-grandparents), this would be the first evening she would encounter the whole Jones clan, or at least those able to attend the rehearsal dinner and the wedding this Sunday. 

Sensing his wife’s distress (He told himself it was perfectly acceptable to refer to Samara as such to maintain the ruse around their family members, even though he was beginning to do so when it was just the two of them), Charles brushed his lips against Samara’s knuckles before entering the restaurant. And suddenly, they were caught in the maelstrom that was his extended family, holding just as tightly onto Samara’s hand so as not to lose her in the crowd while they were buoyed from relative to relative wanting to catch up with their wayward _bach_ and his American wife. 

At some point in the evening, they were finally able to sit down at a table with several of Charles’ cousins, who were incredibly enthused sharing their fondest (or most embarrassing) memories of their cousin (much to his chagrin) while Sam reiterated a condensed version of their whirlwind romance and marriage. Charles bore their teasing amiably, relieved and content to see Samara engage with his family. She was doing brilliantly, just as he’d assured her, despite her fears and social anxieties. She had improved significantly since he first took her under his tutelage, and he couldn’t help but be proud of her progress, especially with his less reserved relatives. 

After dinner was served, complete with celebratory toasts congratulating Owain and Mari on fifty years of marriage, Sam watched amusedly as Charles was yanked out of his chair by cousins Kay and Quinn up to a makeshift stage complete with a keyboard and several other instruments. “I didn’t agree to any of this,” Charles whispered harshly as he was unceremoniously dropped in front of the keyboard.

“Please,” Cousin Nessa scoffed as she picked up her violin, “You could do this in your sleep.”

“Unless you’re not up for the challenge,” Quinn adjusted his guitar.

“Did being in America make you soft in the hands as well as the head, cousin?” Kay jibed, tapping the microphone before gesturing to his wife, Mira and handing her the other mike. “Uncle Owain, Aunt Mari, congrats again on your upcoming nuptials! We know you got a band hired for the day of, but we figured you’d humor us with this rendition.”

Charles was still at a loss as to what song he was supposed to be playing accompaniment for, until he heard the first verse from Mira, “ _Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche, Voilà le portrait sans retouche, De l'homme auquel j'appartiens."_ He began playing a few chords before following along with Quinn and Nessa. It was his grandparents’ favorite after all.

Sam felt a little misty-eyed watching Charles play the piano while his cousins sang _La Vie En Rose_ (in perfect French unsurprisingly) and seeing Owain pull Mari onto her feet and gently sway with her to the music, cheek to cheek. She knew he played beautifully, having listened to him play the same melodies (at Lizzy’s insistence, now that she recalled) the past few evenings after dinner on the piano tucked aside in the sitting room. But she was soon swept away with the emotion, love and affection throughout the room, tears streaming down her face with the last verse as Kay and Mira sang in unison, “ _Et dès que je l'aperçois, Alors je sens en moi, Mon cœur qui bat!_ ” The room then burst into applause with Owain and Mari thanking Charles and his cousins for their performance.

Charles quickly escaped before he was pulled into another song, while Nessa and Quinn began playing ‘September’ and the rest of his relatives started pushing aside tables for a makeshift dance floor. Spotting Samara sitting by herself, the glimmer of tears on her cheeks, he rushed to her side. “Bunty,” he cradled her face, “What happened?”  
  
Sam shook her head, resting her hands on his. “Just hormones,” she assured Charles, “I seem to get emotional when you play. But then,” she gave a watery laugh, “I get emotional at almost everything.”

“How about we get some fresh air, step outside for a little bit before they chain me to that keyboard,” Charles suggested half-jokingly. Between the dancing and the sudden urge to steal Samara away, hold onto any excuse to pull her close and kiss away her tears, the room had grown unbearably hot. Thankfully, Samara nodded in reply, grabbing her purse and their coats as he led her out of the reserved area, towards the main entrance, and straight into his former in-laws.

Sam nearly knocked into Charles when he abruptly stopped, wondering what had happened when she saw his rigid posture, shoulders braced and absolutely still. “Hello Charlie,” Sam observed Charles’ jaw tightening slightly at the other woman’s greeting. Feeling his grip tighten once around her fingers, Sam had her suspicions at the identities of the older couple standing across from them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Davies,” Charles nodded curtly. “How are you this evening?”

“Quite well, we were just about to have dinner.” Mrs. Davies replied politely. “I heard you returned for your grandparents’ vow renewal.”

“Yes, tonight’s the rehearsal dinner.” Charles shifted just so in an attempt to shield Samara from direct view.

“Please give them our congratulations. We were all family once.” She smiled faintly. “Oh and who is this lovely woman with you this evening?” 

“I’m his wife, Sam.” She stepped forward, choosing to stand beside her husband.

“What a coincidence, our girl was recently engaged to a _Sam_ of her own.” Mr. Davies shot a pointed look directly at Charles. “Hopefully it will be a more fruitful union now that she’s selected a partner more suited to her. We would’ve preferred her to be here to celebrate, but she can’t exactly return home the way your family chased her out of town.”

“Please pass along our congratulations as well, I’m sure they are deserving of each other and whatever blessings karma chooses to bestow.” Sam smiled serenely. “We wanted to stay longer, but Charles is taking me home early, I don’t know why it’s called morning sickness when you’re nauseous most of the day. _Noswaith dda_ ,” Sam waved, Charles following her out of the restaurant and into the winter night. 

Once they were a few storefronts away from the restaurant, Sam fumed, “How dare they treat you like that! Who exactly do they think they are telling you those things?” She had seen the pain in Charles’ eyes both at the acknowledgement of his former relationship with his in-laws and the news of his ex-wife’s engagement. It infuriated her the way they presented themselves, as if somehow _they_ were the offended party following Charles’ divorce. It might’ve been a little petty on her part, mentioning her pregnancy, but if they were going to inform Charles of Gwen’s pending nuptials to _that_ Sam, then why shouldn’t they know he was now married with a child on the way. Even if it was a partial truth. “I would’ve loved to slap the stupid smirk off that man’s face, maybe I should go back and do it.”  
  
“Samara.” Charles interrupted only to help her into her wool coat, the simple motions of fastening the buttons and securing her scarf around her neck helping him steady his breaths and quell the flames of resentment he’d thought were long buried.

“Charles.” Sam reached up, cupping his face with her palm. She hated seeing the haunted expression in his eyes, the way he seemed to withdraw into himself. She couldn’t take away all of his pain, but she would do what she could to comfort the man she loved. “We don’t have to go back to the restaurant. We can just walk around for a little while.”

He was silent for several moments. Then leaned into her touch, taking solace from the small hand pressed against his cheek. “I’d...I’d like that.” It would give him a chance to collect himself, regain his composure and control. Charles lifted Samara’s hand off his jaw, taking her hand in his and continuing along the street, not unlike the last time he found himself meandering aimlessly. 

Except this time he was with her, and he was home.

\---

They had made their way down several blocks when Sam started asking Charles questions. Anything and everything to take his mind off the previous events. And somewhere between Yorkshire puddings and helping her pronounce _llongyfarchiadau_ , Charles began telling her stories of his youth. 

How he was the archangel in the nativity play at the community center but lost his footing and fell through the manger on top of the first lobster (“There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus?” She managed a smile from Charles with that one). How he finished one season of football to spite his cousin Kay, who called him a useless _pendafad_ on the green (“In his defense, I was absolutely rubbish”) before focusing on more solitary activities like swimming, fencing and chess. How proud his mother was when he won his first fencing tournament, how he was good enough to go to university on a fencing scholarship, but chose not to continue past the collegiate level (“It was more important to me and my mam that I got my degree”). How his first crush ended disastrously one summer involving jellyfish (“Wait, you call them wibli woblies?” Sam eyed Charles curiously. “ _Psygod Wibli Wobli,_ ” He replied).

Then they came across a large two-story building with a low stone fence and tidily maintained campus despite the snow and slush. Charles had paused mid-story about the first time he was responsible for herding the sheep on his grandpappy’s farm, staring at the gray building. “This was my secondary school, high school,” He explained to Samara. “I haven’t been back since graduation.” 

“I never graduated from high school.” Sam admitted. “Not officially, I spent most of it in and out of the hospital, got my GED online. Getting healthy enough to attend college was a miracle, but I can’t say I had the typical high school experience.”

“Some say you’d be fortunate. Do you want to take a look inside?” Charles said in jest, but found himself being led by Samara towards the main entrance. “Everyone would be out for winter break so the entrance might be locked.” He cautioned as they approached the tall double doors. Much to his surprise, the doors opened easily and the two made their way inside. 

Everything was the same, but changed all at once. _Were the hallways always this small and crowded_ , he wondered, memories filtering in and out of students weaving throughout the hallways in their rush to class, running into teachers, brief moments in between breaks for weekend plans and after-school meetings. Stolen moments away from prying eyes, his hand clasped around another’s, her phantom laugh echoing throughout.

They continued walking down the corridor until Sam paused in front of a series of trophy display cases. “Is that you?” She squinted at a picture of a fencing team with a small brass plate tacked underneath, engraved script reading, “ **National Champions**.”  
  
Charles laughed in surprise, “That was almost a decade ago, I’m surprised it’s still here.”  
  
“I think being national champions is worth remembering for your school.” Sam also took notice of the dark-haired woman beside Charles, her arm linked with his. She was strikingly beautiful. Sam could imagine she had become even more beautiful since, mildly jealous of remembering her own teenage years, awkward and scrawny with acne and braces. “Where was your favorite place to be?” She asked, wondering if she made a mistake bringing Charles back to where he spent his days with his high school sweetheart.

“ _Is_ there such a place?” Charles mused before he tugged Samara along, a destination in mind. He chuckled at the baffled expression on her features when they stood in front of the school library. “When I wasn’t at practice, I spent many afternoons here while my mam was still at work. There was one place in particular,” Charles twisted the knob, unsurprised to find it locked, “Bunty, may I have a few of your hairpins?” 

Sam plucked a few pins loosening one of the braids in her simple updo. She handed them to Charles and watched in earnest at his attempts to open the library entrance. “You know how to pick locks?”

“Just another puzzle.” It was fairly simple, inserting the pins into the keyhole and applying the right amount of tension, “As you well know, I’m very good with my hands.” Charles smirked, feeling the pins give way as he popped the lock. He opened the door with a dramatic flourish, allowing Samara to enter first. 

They walked past long rows of bookshelves, neatly arranged tables, the air smelling of dust and old pages, moonlight spilling through large bay windows. Charles brought Sam to a single desk, barely wide enough for two chairs hidden behind several bookshelves. Charles told her this was his favorite spot, where he had a clear view of the school courtyard. Sam looked outside and saw a large yew tree standing in the center. 

“There’s an old rumor, a legend about that tree.” Charles sat on the edge of the desk. “They say if you confess to your _cariad_ under its branches just before it bears fruit, your love will be returned tenfold.” He smiled wanly. “But I supposed it’s just a myth.” 

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Confess to your _cariad_?” Sam looked to Charles to confirm its meaning.

“Beloved.” He moved forward and brushed a stray curl behind Samara’s ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the outline of her jaw. _Cariad._ “Well, she confessed to me. Just not under that tree.” _But my love for her was tenfold_ , he thought sadly.

“I’m doing a terrible job as your protector,” Sam gave a hollow laugh, “Taking you to places and running into people that bring up bad memories.” What exactly was she doing, thinking she could take his mind of things when everywhere they turned served as a reminder of what had been lost.

Charles firmly held Samara’s chin to look directly at him. “Not all of it was bad.” He refused to let her place any blame on herself. “I would come here whenever I needed a few moments alone. This was the last place they,” Charles pushed past the dulled ache in his chest, “Ever wanted to visit. Unless it was to drag me to Lee’s for a chip break.” This secluded spot in the library was one of the few that hardly had any memories associated with _them_ . It was one, Charles realized, he wanted to share with Samara. _Cariad_. He found himself wanting many things with her as she wrapped her fingers around his knuckles, her amber eyes almost golden in the moonlight. 

“Samara, I,” Sam nearly held her breath when Charles paused, watching him struggle with the words, perhaps the ones she secretly wished for, “I...want you to know. What happened. With Gweneth.” Her eyes widened, disappointment quickly replaced by astonishment. She had thought of it as the unapproachable topic, one Charles avoided vehemently.

“After what’s happened today,” Charles continued, “The longer we stay here, the more mutual acquaintances we’ll run into, I...I want to tell you. As my wife you have a right to know about these things.” 

“It’s just us Charles, you don’t have to keep pretending.”

“Still, until the divorce papers are signed, we are married in the eyes of the law and for as long as we’re here with everyone’s eyes on us, you should know the whole story. Think of it as a strategy guide.” 

“Well if you put it in gaming terms,” Sam sat next to Charles on the desktop, their hands still interlaced, waiting for him to begin his origin story.

He wasn’t sure where to start but he decided to go back to the very beginning. “We were best friends. Even as kids. The Three Musketeers we used to call ourselves. I didn’t have much with just my mam and me, but I had Gweneth and Samael. And it was enough. We spent our lives together then and I thought we’d always be together for the rest of our days.

“I was shy and studious. Sam was the class clown, incredibly charming and a shameless flirt. And Gwen, she...she was bold and beautiful. I think every boy had their eye on her until we started secondary and somehow, she chose me.” _A starry night on the promenade, the summer before._ “We had dated the entire time, making plans to go to uni and starting our lives together. And even though we were together, Sam would still hang out with us whenever he wasn’t busy chasing a girl as if nothing had truly changed. Even after Gwen and I got married, Sam followed us to uni and to the city after we graduated.” 

The words continued to spill forth, Charles unable to hold back everything he tried to keep hidden for so long. The things he didn’t want Samara to know. His failings. His weaknesses. “Gwen was my first in many things, my first love...she was my everything. Everyone told us we should’ve waited until after college, but I couldn’t wait for another second until she was my wife. I was so surprised she said yes. At the time, all I had was my grandmother’s ring to give her but I promised to buy her a true wedding ring when I had saved enough. And it was years after, but on our fifth anniversary, I was able to purchase a diamond band for her. I think that was when they had started sleeping together.” 

Sam bristled in Charles’ arms. They had moved onto the floor, Charles leaning against the wall and Sam sitting between his knees, her head resting along the slope of his shoulders and his arms draped around her. “How could they do that to you?” She sat up, turning to face him. 

“Maybe I wasn’t attentive enough. I had been spending most of my time at work, away from Gwen.” He had never said this aloud to anyone. “We had gotten pregnant once, but we lost the baby as soon as we found out. For the first time, I was at a loss on what to do or what Gwen needed. And we started to drift apart. Sam, Samael, helped fill in the spaces where I lacked.” He was initially relieved when Sam stepped in to look after Gwen, not unlike when they were in their teens, when Gwen started to smile again after their loss. What a fool he was. “Or maybe everyone was right, we were too young to settle down and I was too naive and foolhardy to listen.” Charles was startled when Samara poked him hard between the ribs. “Samara? Wha-”

“Why are you blaming yourself? Did she tell you why she cheated? Why they cheated?”

“...Not directly.” He had spent many nights pondering the reasons why Gwen left him. “I was willing to go to counseling, she refused and asked for a divorce. She agreed that we were too young to be married, for her to be settled with just me. Eventually, I did as she asked. She always had a way of getting what she wanted.” He admitted quietly, bitterly. _This isn’t a puzzle you can solve, Charlie._

“So instead of talking to you and trying to figure out a solution, she ran to someone else? Someone who was supposed to be your friend and took advantage?” Sam silenced Charles' protests with a firm shake of her head. “I’m just saying you shouldn’t take on all the blame, they’re also at fault, even more so for what they did to you.” 

She thought of her parents, how she couldn’t fathom either of them willfully ruining their marriage. Her dad would sooner throw himself in front of a pack of rabid wolves than hurt her mom, the other half of his heart. And she knew her mom felt just as strongly. Listening to Charles now, her heart nearly broke seeing his pain, his sadness, how much it took for him to tell her how his marriage ended and to relive those memories. 

It should have terrified her. How love could bring happiness. Joy. Strength and courage to carry on in good times and bad. For better. For worse. How love could also destroy and ruin, to leave you raw with grief and regret. But she also was beginning to learn that love was a choice. 

She knew when her parents stayed with her in the hospital, when her brother got accepted to medical school, how they fought to keep her alive when her body failed her time and time again. She saw it when her friends stood by her, protecting her from the bullies and critics who tried to ruin her reputation as a game developer. She felt it when she started to believe in the things she said about herself during her self-love exercises, seeing herself in a new light with a newfound appreciation of everything she accomplished, great and small. She felt it when Charles told her she was brilliant and capable; when he made her feel beautiful and cherished every time he held her in his arms. 

It should have terrified her. The risk of loving someone, the risk of opening yourself to loneliness and suffering where your happiness was contingent on another person. A person who could choose to stay like her parents, her friends. Or walk away, like Gwen. 

Reckless. Foolish. Potentially dangerous, loving Charles Jones. This lovely, lonely man. It might cost her. It could break her heart. But she made her choice. 

“What they did was wrong. And her parents are no better, talking down to you like they did.”

Seeing Samara, eyes bright with righteous fury on his behalf, Charles felt the ache in his chest lessen as if a heavy chain had fallen away, sinking far and away into the depths. “It won’t come as a surprise then that they didn’t exactly approve of me marrying their only daughter. But Gwen was just as determined to marry me then, and once she decided on something, well, it was very difficult to say no to her. I had hoped someday I could prove I was enough for Gwen. But I suppose that won’t ever come to pass.”

“They didn’t deserve you.” It was another strike in Sam’s view, how easily they disregarded Charles’ love. What she would give to be the one he chose. “Any family would be lucky to have you as a son-in-law. Well,” Sam stifled a laugh at Charles’ raised eyebrow, “You know my dad would’ve given _anyone_ who wanted to date, let alone marry me, a hard time. I stand by what I said.”

“I think you have a heavy bias, Bunty.” Charles shifted Samara forward, her forearms now resting on his chest.

“Of course I’m biased, I’m your wife.” Sam flushed, acutely aware of Charles’ eyes focussing on her. “Even when we get divorced,” she hated saying it aloud, “I’ll always support you.” She fussed with the lapels of his peacoat. “And you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone that you’re worthy or deserving of love. You’re enough as you are. More than enough.” she was rambling now, “At least to me-” 

Charles lifted Samara’s chin, silencing her with a gentle kiss. As appreciative as he was of her, her sincerity, her kind words, he wasn’t ready to hear the rest. He couldn’t hear the rest. No matter how much she insisted, he didn’t have the right. He couldn’t give her what she deserved. He had to let her go. But he was starting to worry that when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to. 

He rested his brow against hers. “Thank you for being here.” This much he could admit. “You’re very important to me.”

“I should hope so, being the mother of your child.” Sam’s hands linked behind Charles’ neck. “Any other secrets I should know? Mischievous deeds or trouble you might’ve caused in your younger days?”

“I was a model student,” Charles’ hands settled on Samara’s hips, “Top of my class.”

“No sneaking around, skipping school,” She brushed her nose against his, her voice barely a whisper, “Or fooling around in empty corridors or utility closets?”

“What a wild imagination you have, Bunty. I think you and my mam have watched too many teen dramas,” Charles teased, his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth. “But no, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Not even an overdue library book?” Sam gripped Charles’ shoulders as his lips skimmed along her jaw.

“Do you know what the penalty is for an overdue book?” He stopped just below her ear, his voice low and soft. “The librarian, Mrs. Collins was a tyrant in those days and one of my mam’s cousins. I’d never live down the scandal.” Charles returned to repeat the same motions on the other side, “What about you, Bunty? Any stolen kisses in between classes, trips to detention, overdue books?”

“No,” Sam moaned when Charles nipped her earlobe. “I never skipped classes when I wasn’t in the hospital.” He undid her scarf, “Never brought home a boy from school,” His lips warm and firm on the side of her neck, “Never held hands with my crush,” He undid the top buttons of her coat, “Didn’t even go to my prom,” She shuddered as he trailed a line of kisses further down, feeling his tongue tracing her collarbone, “But I wanted to know what it felt like.”

“We did hold hands,” Charles unbuttoned the rest of her coat, “Snuck into the school,” He slid it down her arms and off her body, “And broke into the library after hours.” He continued nibbling along the exposed skin, “I can say I’ve never done that before.” 

“Never?” Sam repositioned herself, her thighs now astride his. “Nothing like this?” She tilted forward, her hips moving and rising against him. She held his face between her hands and kissed him, an intense thrill skittering down her spine as she watched Charles’ eyes, that faded blue glow and spark in the darkness. 

Feeling her tongue sweep past his lips, Charles pulled Samara closer, deepening the kiss as his hands fisted in the crushed green velvet of her dress, responding to her unspoken challenge. “No,” he panted briefly, “Nothing like this.” He repeated the words before capturing her lips again. _Nothing like with her._ Proper. Patient. A perfect gentleman when he was with Gwen. Considerate and attentive as they navigated through their courtship, their marriage, finding their rhythm past the awkwardness of youthful romance into the intimacies as a married couple. Unlike now. 

He felt reckless. Charles undid his peacoat and shrugged it off with his blazer. He wanted to end the war within him, torn between restraint and desire. Wants and needs. He wanted his hands on her, to feel her bare skin, her body against his. He wanted to empty his mind, to silence long-buried fears and inadequacies, to completely lose himself into Samara, if only in this moment. He could afford this moment. He unzipped her dress, his movements painstakingly slow as he lowered his mouth to the soft swell of her breasts, barely constrained by the bands of lace across her chest.

Sam pushed Charles onto the floor, half-expecting him to resist with concerns of rumors and small towns. But was pleasantly surprised when he finished unzipping her dress, pulling down her top and exposing her to the night air. She shivered at the contact, trembles spreading through her body as Charles pressed his palms along the lacy cups of her bra before unsnapping the garment and tossing it aside. Sam bit back a moan as his hands encircled her breasts, rosy buds hardening underneath the pads of his thumbs. She unbuttoned his shirt, her fingertips grazing the sculpted planes of his chest, his abdomen, admiring how his skin looked almost alabaster in the moonlight. “You’re so gorgeous.” A sly smile crept past when she felt Charles’ hands, currently wandering underneath her dress, jerk against her thighs. She nearly crooned seeing the rapid blush across his cheekbones even in the dim light. 

Charles’ mouth dropped open slightly before quickly closing it again. He turned his eyes away from Samara, fairly certain his ears were burning. But before he could say anything to the contrary, Charles felt his pulse hammer under the lips pressed upon his neck. 

“You _are_ gorgeous.” Sam continued, placing another kiss against his collarbone, a scarlet mark against the pale skin. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.” Hands and mouth continued downward, fingertips pressing into the lean muscles of his chest, tongue flicking against his nipple eliciting a shuddered breath. “I still can’t believe I get to do this.” Open kisses along his abdomen, just pausing above the belt looped around his waist. She quickly undid the remaining obstacle, unfastening his pants and reached for him, firm strokes along his length. “To touch you like this.” Pleasure and power coursed through her, knowing his reaction as he pushed against her palm, his hips nearly buckling under hers when her fingertips were replaced with her lips and tongue swirling around his tip.

Not wanting to be outdone _and_ undone, Charles pulled Samara back up after several blissful moments of discovering how his cock fit snugly between her breasts. He was astounded in the number of ways his Bunty continued to surprise him. He secured his arm around her waist, swiftly and carefully flipping her underneath him, his mouth on hers as his other hand dove beneath her skirt, stripping past the barrier of lace until he reached her core, hot and wet for him. Only him. He greedily devoured her, her cries muffled against his lips, her nails now digging into his shoulders when his fingers delved into her, watching her with feral eyes as he brought her to the edge, her lips tearing away as her head fell back, her whole body quaking and arching against him when she shattered by his hand. 

Flushed and dazed, Sam arms encircled Charles neck, running her fingers through his hair as she dragged his lips to her once more. More. More. More. The words reverberated in her mind. They had hardly a moment alone without prying eyes and interruptions, now engulfed with a consuming need to touch and take what was hers. Possessive hands scraped and dug into broad shoulders, her teeth grazing his lower lip as Charles lifted her in his arms.

Laying Samara onto the desk, Charles hovered over her, taking her face between his hands, thumbs brushing across her lips. “You humble me, Bunty.” He placed kisses along the soft skin under her jaw, the hollow of her throat, following the same path she took earlier as he continued downward, pausing to drag his tongue across her breast, while his hand palmed the other, feeling her writhe against him. “I neglected to tell you how stunning you look tonight.” He peered up at her. “Forgive me?”

Watching him look at her, blonde hair tousled and fallen across his eyes, Sam locked her legs around Charles’ waist. “Prove it.” Velvet folds against his length. “Show me.” 

Azure eyes alight at the challenge in her voice, Charles turned Samara slightly onto her side as he grasped one of her thighs, her foot against his shoulder. Bent forward, his knee propped on the desk, he aligned himself and thrust into her, both groaning at the immediate contact. Her body moved against him fluidly, practically in unison. Almost as natural as drawing breath.

Sam cried out as he drove faster and faster, rushing to meet his movements. Feeling his pelvis rock into hers, the sound of the desk scraping against the floor heightening the sensation, the incredible need for him to fill her, all surrounding her as he sent her racing towards the edge again.

Again. Again. He was determined to see Samara fall apart again, watching her arch against him, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the arched windows. But he was soon lost, the last of his restraint giving way as she shifted her ankle from his grip and around his waist once more, pulling him closer, deeper. _Just this once, just this once_ , he allowed himself to let go. To surrender to his desperate need for her in his arms, his name on her lips as she pulled him towards her. His thoughts only of her as she cried out and tipped over the crumbling peak, whisky eyes clouded and unfocused. He fell soon after, pouring into her while the world seemed to collapse and thunder around them.

Moments after, when Charles withdrew and helped her sit up, Sam realized they had knocked over a stack of books on a low lying shelf. “I guess it wasn’t just the earth shaking.”

“Speak for yourself.” Charles lightly bit the outer shell of Samara’s ear, his voice playful. “I’m sure that the earth moved for you several times.” 

“Twice, unless you’re up for increasing those stats.”

Before Charles could respond, a loud ringtone chimed noisily, breaking the silence. He quickly readjusted his pants then grabbed the pink cellphone from his coat pocket. “ _Sut mae,_ Mam,” he replied after seeing the caller id. “Just went out, needed to get away.” He picked up the strewn clothes on the carpeted floor. “Yes.” He handed Samara her undergarments, answering his mam’s inquiry, her concern after having seen the Davieses at the restaurant evident. “Quite all right.” He assured her. “See you in a bit.” 

Sam had zipped up her dress when Charles hung up with Lizzy. She hopped off the table and walked towards him, helping rebutton his shirt as he slid arms into his blazer. Smoothing the lapels of his jacket, Sam placed her hand against his cheek, tugging his jaw down so he was looking at her.

“I am quite all right, Bunty.” He kissed her palm, the faint scar pressed against his lips. He still felt a little raw, a little exposed, but he was more settled than before. “I have _you_ here with me, after all.” Charles looked past Samara’s shoulder. “We should put away these books before we head back.” He brushed his lips against her knuckles before releasing her hand. 

Truth or Lie. Sam’s mind whirred over his words as she helped Charles with the books, readjusting the table and recovering any other evidence of their time in the library. She decided to temporarily brush the thought aside when Charles called out to her, asking if she was ready to go. Securing her scarf and jacket around her, Sam took his offered arm as they slipped out of the library, relocking the doors as they exited into the night.

\---

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

_All this feels strange and untrue_

_And I won't waste a minute without you_

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh Translations:  
> Prynhawn Da = Good Afternoon  
> cwtch = cuddle  
> fy machgen = son  
> oen = lamb  
> bach = boy  
> Noswaith dda = Good Night  
> llongyfarchiadau = congratulations  
> pendafad = sheephead  
> Psygod Wibli Wobli = jellyfish  
> cariad = beloved  
> Sut mae = How are you


End file.
